


Melting The Ice Man

by tenrosemollcroft



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2020-05-02 02:40:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 48
Words: 29,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19190275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenrosemollcroft/pseuds/tenrosemollcroft
Summary: This has got quite a lot of chapters but I write in short bouts so I can post everyday :)I'm not quite sure how to describe it, it goes in a lot of different directions, please enjoy!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first story and it hasn't been beta-ed, so please leave comments!

“Would you consider – no, wait – will you m-”  
“Stop.”

Lets backtrack a moment.


	2. Chapter 2

“You didn't need to come in, Molly.” Muttered Sherlock, leaning over the body on the slab.  
“That's okay. Everyone else was busy with Valentines.” Her eyes flickered to Sherlock, but they were fixed on Mycroft, who was leaning on his umbrella. Sherlock had rung Molly and quickly demanded that she prepare a very specific corpse. She expected Sherlock (and possibly John), but certainly not Mycroft. “Ah, the face is a bit – sort of – bashed up, so it might be a bit difficult.”  
“That's him, isn't it?” Mycroft spoke to Sherlock, who ignored him.  
“Show me the rest of him” Sherlock demanded. Molly pulled back the sheet, her hand brushing the man's leg. “That's him.” He confirmed, then strode out.  
“Thank you, Miss Hooper.” Molly was astonished the Mycroft had stayed behind.  
Molly tried not to show her glee at the fact that the British government had just addressed her.  
“Who is he? How did Sherlock recognise him from... not his face?” She stumbled across the words. Mycroft simply gave a sad smile then strode out after Sherlock. 

Tears sprung to her eyes, yet refused to fall, as she covered the body again with the thin white sheet and slid her back into the mortuary fridge. The chime of the nearby clock tower alerted her that it was midnight and, on cue, the door was thrown open and Mycroft entered again.  
“I forgot this.” He gestured at the umbrella, that was lying on her desk, but made no move to retrieve it.  
“Um, please, take it.”  
“I had every intention to. It's not usual that I forgot belongings, but I found this evening rather distressing. I must admit, not everybody can do this job – not only that it requires a high level of intelligence, but that it also requires a very strong stomach. Congratulations, Miss Hooper.”  
“Please, call me Molly. Did you – did you just call me clever?”  
“I must insist that you call me Mycroft then. And I believe I did. I must admit, Molly, I do not usually notice these things as I regard most other people as 'goldfish.'”  
Molly wasn't sure whether to be flattered that he was calling her extraordinary or whether to be offended that he was referring to her as a goldfish. “Why are you telling me this, Mycroft?”  
“The President of Kenya, Mr Karaful, expects me to bring a companion to our dinner in a few days. I usually cannot stand... people, but perhaps you are the exception. Would you like to accompany me?”  
“Um, well, I'd be delighted!”  
“Tremendous news. I shall see you then, a car shall be sent to your residence.”  
“Here, I'll give you my address,” began Molly, but Mycroft held up a thin hand. “No need, Molly, I am the British government. I already know.”  
“Oh, okay, well, I guess I'll see you then!” Molly turned back. Mycroft gave a nod and with the blink of an eye, was gone again.  
Molly, unsure of whether that conversation had been real or not, simply nodded her head back to the closed door, picked up her jumper and left.

When she got home, she was bombarded by a furry white ball that was loudly meowing in protest to Molly not coming home earlier for his dinner. She quickly threw a few biscuits in his bowl and crawled into bed, not even bothering to brush her teeth or change into her pyjamas. Just before she dozed off, she giggled. Mycroft Holmes had asked her out on a date!

Mycroft had returned to his office by the time that Molly unlocked her front door. He sat at his antique mahogany desk, the darkness of the room enveloping him. A knock at the door made him sit up sharply and click on his desk lamp, but it was only Anthea.  
“Sir, is everything in affair with Miss Hooper?”  
“Yes, Anthea, it is.”  
Anthea smirked. Despite the usual passive look on his face, his eyes looked happier than she had ever seen. “In that case, is there anything else I can do for you before I go home, Sir?”  
“Yes, actually.” Mycroft extended his platinum card to Anthea and gave her some careful instructions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first paragraph might seem familiar.  
> It's a paraphrase of the morgue scene from A Scandal In Belgravia.  
> [I own nothing but] I've changed it a bit so there's no Irene and it's set in February instead of December. It'll later make sense why because I've tried to keep this story in chronological order.


	3. Chapter 3

Molly awoke the next morning, concealer smeared on her bedspread and cat fur coating her jumper from the previous night. Unlike the previous few years, she hadn't drowned her sorrows to ignore Valentine's Day and she hadn't woken up to a hangover.

A sharp set of knocks at her front door made her sit up straight. Glancing at her alarm clock, she realized she was right and it was indeed only 6am. Molly shrugged and dragged herself out of bed anyway, grabbing an umbrella to defend herself just in case. 

There was a woman at the door, a good looking brunette in a smart skirt and stiletto heels. The ambiguous woman didn't even look up from her phone.  
"May I help you?" Molly asked, resting down her umbrella.  
The woman quickly glanced up, her eyes raking over Molly's bedraggled form with distaste, before saying in aristocratic tones. “Are you Molly Hooper?”  
Molly frowned. "Yeah, why?"  
The woman smirked and said "Nice jumper."  
"Right, you've come to my house on the early hours of frosty morning, looking like you've just stepped out of a meeting. You're demanding to know who I am and you're making comments about my appearance in MY flat! Who the hell are you?"  
The woman arched an perfectly groomed eyebrow. "I do not work to a schedule and I did just step out of a meeting, only 10 minutes ago. Now, I shall ask again, are you Molly Hooper?"  
Molly folded her arms angrily and reluctantly muttered “Yes.”   
The woman nodded and extended a bag to Molly. “I am delivering this to you on behalf of my employer. Good day, Miss Hooper.”  
"Who's your employer? Are you working with Sherlock Holmes?" Molly shouted after her as she strutted back down the hallway. The woman didn't answer. Molly tried another tactic. "What's your name?!"   
“Anthea!” She called back, before shutting the door.   
“That's not her real name.” Molly said, closing her own door again. 

Molly peered inside the bag. There was a package wrapped in shiny black paper and a note on top. Written on the note in spidery handwriting was a mobile number. Molly whipped out her phone and sent a text to the unknown number:

'?'

She got a reply almost immediately:

'I see you have met my assistant, Anthea. Please do not take offence from her brief nature. Enjoy the parcel. I shall see you soon, my dear. M.'  
'Mycroft?'  
'You have deduced correctly, Molly. M.'

Molly smiled at her phone and shook the soft package free of the paper. A maxi dress fell out. It was a beautiful dove grey colour with a chiffon skirt and a tight bodice, decorated with an elegant black embroidery pattern. Molly had seen this in a Vogue magazine, priced at £300. She stood to fold the dress and saw the black stilettos inside the bag that she had failed to notice before. She didn't recognise them from her magazine, but the brand name on the sole told her how expensive they would have been. She got her phone out again and sent a frantic text:

'Mycroft, what is this?'  
'A dress, my dear. I know you are familiar with the type of garment. M.'  
'Haha. This outfit must have cost you a small fortune!'  
'I am the British government, Molly. I own a fortune worth more than the Commonwealth. M.'

Molly smiled at the text. She knew he wasn't bragging – he was too dissimilar from Sherlock to brag. As she swirled around her sitting room with the dress, her phone beeped again.

'P.S. I'd appreciate you wearing it on our day out, I do hope it fits. M.'

As Molly carefully folded the dress, she felt a warm shudder run down her spine. Was it possible that Mycroft Holmes had just admitted he was looking forward to seeing her in the most beautiful dress she had ever seen?


	4. Chapter 4

The days flew by quickly and before Molly knew it, she was putting her make-up on for her dinner with the British government. As she slid a hair grip into her topknot, a rap at the door interrupted her. She shrugged her dressing gown over the white lingerie that she had chosen to match the dress and opened the door. She had expected the postman, but there stood Mycroft Holmes, his umbrella extended to knock again. She wasn't surprised that he was in a three piece black suit.   
“Are you always dressed for something like this?”  
“You're right in suggesting that I am always dressed smartly. I suppose you could say I just have a fantastic fashion sense.” Mycroft replied, a twinkle in his eye. His eyes glanced over her form and Molly suddenly became very self aware of how short the hem of her silky dressing gown was. “Um, I'll just, um - ” she walked backwards, into the door frame, stumbling. Mycroft shot out an arm to refrain her from falling and his hand accidentally brushed her breast. A blush stained his cheeks and he snatched his hand back like she had burnt him. “Yes, please, go ahead and get dressed. I don't believe Mr Karaful would appreciate hosting a dinner with a lady ready to go to bed.”  
Molly tried not to focus on how dirty that would sound coming from anyone else, and how it send a zap of excitement through her, hearing the words come from Mycroft Holmes. Instead, she almost ran back to her bedroom and slid into the dress. It fitted her curves perfectly, accentuating her chest and ass. She double checked herself in the mirror, patting her powdered cheek, before stepping out to meet Mycroft again. 

“Well, I must say, Molly, you look delightful this evening.” He offered his arm and she graciously took it. “Shall we be off?”

They hurried down the steps together towards Mycroft's elegant black Bentley. It looked out of place beside the grubby old flat block. “I'm sorry you had to come here, it's probably not quite what you're used to! Then again, I can barely walk in these shoes, I don't think I've ever seen heels so high!”  
“Molly, please do not incessently babble. There is no justification for your anxiety. Please, relax. The drive may take a while, I'm afraid.”  
“That's okay! As long as you don't mind talking while you're driving,” chuckled Molly, slightly more relaxed.  
“Please, Molly, I won't be driving. I have a chaffeur for a reason. Champagne?”  
Molly giggled nervously, taking the champagne flute and smoothing her dress as she sat down on the black leather seat. “So where are we going?”  
“Mr Karaful and I share the love of a particular venue in London called Radisson, where we can dine privately. It will take a half hour, is that acceptable?”  
“Yes, of course! We can chat!” Molly said, smiling at the idea of small talk with Mycroft Holmes.  
“...chat?”  
Molly had never heard him sound so uncertain and took pity on him. “It's okay, I'll start and you just catch on!” She wondered whether he had ever chatted with friends as a youngster, then remembered Sherlock's dislike of other people. Her next immediate thought was whether the dinner would be particularly awkward in case Mycroft didn't speak to Mr Karaful. “So, I know you love your job and I know you love your suits. What else do you love?”  
Mycroft steepled his fingers together thoughtfully. “I don't tell many people this and you must swear to never tell another soul. Remember, I have access to drugs that could erase this entire situation from your memory.”  
Molly gulped, suddenly feeling nervous. “I promise! Go on?”  
“I love the Smurf comics,” Mycroft said, a laugh bubbling out of him. Molly immediately started laughing too. “That's your big secret?! Nobody knows?” She hiccupped in between hysterics.  
“Yes! Sherlock and I were obsessed with the comics when we were young, yet Sherlock grew out of them and assumed I did the same.”   
They continued to exchange funny stories, mainly about their childhoods. Molly found herself completely at ease in his company. Mycroft found himself very happy in her company.

As he stepped out the car and extended his arm again, he was able to admit to himself that Molly wasn't lying about her shoes. She grabbed his hand like it was a lifeline and wobbled out the car. One of the heels slipped on a cobblestone and he grabbed her round the waist, holding on for a little while longer than necessary.   
“See! Useless!” she giggled, grabbing his hand again and heading towards the grand building.

When Mycroft was being honest, he had initially asked her to accompany him because he simply needed a female companion. Molly had been the least irritating female he knew (he didn't know many women, Anthea was busy and he didn't know Molly very well) and he pitied her after Sherlock's dismissal of her. But as time progressed, he had to admit that Molly was indeed a lovely lady and she did look good on his arm. 

He was startled back to his senses as he felt Molly stiffen beside him. He looked down at her as he held the door. “What is it?” he whispered gently.  
“Is that – is that?”  
He followed her gaze and saw her eyes were pinpointed on Mackensie Karaful, the famous fashion designer and the First Lady of France.   
“Yes, I believe it is. I haven't previously met her, but I did know she was Daniel's spouse.”  
Molly just laughed, unable to believe the entire situation.   
Mr Karaful spun around as he heard her laugh. “Ah, mon ami! Hello Mycroft!” He said in a thick French accent.   
“Hello, Daniel. Good to see you again.” Mycroft greeted him back then turned to his wife. “Good to meet you, Mrs Karaful. My friend here is a great follower of your work.”  
Daniel interrupted again before his wife could say anything. She merely smiled at Molly and rolled her eyes at the eager men. “Your friend? Did your fiancee have to cancel, Mycroft?”  
“No, no, of course not, Daniel. My tongue slipped. Allow me to introduce Molly, my... fiancee.” He put a hand on the small of Molly's back and raised his eyebrows at her, silently pleading her to go along with his charade.   
Molly glared at him before extending her hand. “Pleased to meet you, sir.” She turned to the other woman and her voice wobbled slightly. “You too, madam.”  
“Oh, please, call me Mackensie! Now, Molly, would you like to go for a drink with me as we leave our men to talk politics?”  
Molly just nodded, mute, and walked after her, suddenly feeling a lot more confident in her outfit. She could barely feel the stilettos – it felt like she was floating on air. Mycroft simply smirked. 

Molly wasn't sure how long the talks lasted, she was too busy quizzing Mackensie on what colours would suit her skin tone. When Mycroft and Daniel eventually emerged again with glasses of scotch, dusk was starting to show it's colours and the air had a slightly crisp feel to it.  
“Well, we must be off, but as ever, thank you for making this so easy, Daniel.” Mycroft gave an easy smile, set down his glass, wrapped an arm around Molly's waist and swept out of the courtyard.

“Are they really a couple, mon amour?” asked Daniel once they were out of earshot.  
“I'm not sure, but I don't think so. Maybe he just wanted to impress you,”  
“Either way, he's a charming chap and she's a lovely young lady. By the time our next meeting rolls around, I think they'll have discovered their true feelings for one another.”


	5. Chapter 5

Even once they were out of sight, Mycroft didn't remove his arm from her waist, but Molly had some questions.  
“I don't remember you proposing Mycroft,”  
“I give my sincerest apologies. During our last meeting, he invited me to bring a companion to our next dinner and he assumed we were together, apparently by the ring on my finger.” He wiggled his hand at her to show her.  
“How silly of him!” she said sarcastically. Usually, sarcasm irritated Mycroft – there was no need for it and it seemed vulgar. But, with Molly, it was amusing. 

They walked back in silence to the car.   
Only once they had sat back down and been offered more champagne, did Mycroft speak again. “It's nice to see you made a good impact on Mrs Karaful... and Mr Karaful.”  
If Molly didn't know better, she would have thought she heard jealousy in his voice.  
“Well, they didn't jump surprise proposals on me.” she snapped, the champagne having loosened her tongue.  
“I am sorry, but it was just easier to agree with him.”  
“You're not ashamed that we're just friends? You don't want... more?”  
Mycroft's heart of ice broke slightly as he heard the uncertainty in her voice. “Not at all! I do enjoy our time together and I do appreciate our friendship.”  
“But... you never seem worried about correcting people. I mean, you're Sherlock's brother!”  
“No, my dear. I correct people when I know I am right and they are wrong. I can nearly always deduce the truth.”  
“Show me?”  
“Who would you like me to 'perform my magic' on, as Sherlock puts it.”  
“How about... that lady?” The car pulled to a stop at the traffic lights and Molly pointed out the window at a young lady who was sitting on a nearby bench.   
“Very well.” Mycroft squinted slightly. “She's been kicked out by her parents and she's now homeless. She's planning to go to her boyfriend. I could deduce more but I have consumed a large quantity of alcohol and she's rather far away.”  
Mycroft looked back at Molly, surprised to see a look of sadness on her face. Usually, people were awed by his skills.  
“Doesn't all of this eliminate the element of surprise for you?”  
“I find that I do not usually like surprises. Anyway, I do not do this delibrately. I find it easier with strangers anyway.”

Molly considered this for a few moments. “So, you find it more difficult with someone like me or Sherlock?”  
“With Sherlock, no. I know him too well. With you, I can figure out a lot. Although, some pieces of the puzzle are still missing. Why did you almost completely ignore the splendour of the building and the car we are currently in, yet gasp in awe at the beauty of the Radisson gardens?”  
“I do love a manicured garden. My father took great pride in his garden, and I liked to help him. I pursued a keen interest in outdoor sports for about 8 years, just so I could be outside.”   
“Why so precise? What happened after those 8 years passed?”  
“My father died when I was 17. Cancer.”  
“I'm sorry to hear that.”  
“Thank you. What about your family? I've only ever met Sherlock.”  
“My mother is a keen mathematician and she's smarter than she gives herself credit for. My father is simpler. He wasn't even able to help Sherlock or I with our homework in the first years of secondary school. And the other one - ”  
“Another brother?!”  
“No. I have said too much, the champagne has gone to my head, please forgive me. Are you ready to go?”   
She nodded and went to climb out the car again. She didn't realise how tired she was, but she wanted to say one last thing.  
“Don't worry, I'll forget about it. I'm sorry we didn't spend much time together tonight, but I had a great time, so, thank you Mycroft.”  
“It was a pleasure, my dear. You were the best company I have had in a very long while.”  
Despite the day being tiring (and slightly awkward with Mycroft's lie concerning their relationship), she had enjoyed his company. 

Just before she dozed off, despite the idea seeming very unlikely only a few days ago, Molly considered that maybe Mycroft could come to be a good friend.


	6. Chapter 6

It had been 2 weeks since the dinner and Mycroft was sitting in his favourite armchair. Then again, he only had the three armchairs around his fireplace – he rarely had company here. He had read one of his many books (this particular one was a biography of James Callaghan), drunk two glasses of his favourite 20 year old scotch and stepped outside into Hyde Park for a cigarette, since his housekeeper disapproved of smoking. However, today, Molly Hooper would not come off his mind. 

It had been 2 weeks since the dinner and Molly was trying to give Toby some medicine. He had clawed her sofa and clawed her, so she now had a grubby dish cloth over a scratch on her knee and had given up, resigned to collapsing on her clawed sofa. Like every other time she had not been doing anything over the past 3 weeks, her mind slipped to Mycroft. How he had held her slightly tighter than necessary. How the Karaful's had easily nodded along and smiled when he introduced her as his fiancee.  
A knock at the door interrupted her, loud and impatient. She scurried out of the sitting room and flung open the door, expecting her bitchy next door neighbour or the mousy landlord who tried to hide his crush on her. Instead, there stood Mycroft Holmes. She realised what she was wearing and blushed as red as the roses in her hanging basket. There she stood, in front of the British government (who was looking dashing in another three piece suit – this time it was navy blue), in her cat onesie, no makeup on and a gash that was oozing blood down her leg.  
“Mycroft! What a... surprise!”  
“I do apologise, is this an inconvenient time for you?”  
“No, no, no, please come in,”  
Mycroft stepped inside and looked around the hallway for a place to put his umbrella. Molly gestured silently at the coat rack and inwardly cursed herself for being so awkward.  
“I just wanted to say 'hello' and ask how you were. I have not had many friends in the past and I believe this is part of social protocol?”  
Molly's heart melted at how unsure he seemed concerning friendships. He could tell her who would win the next general election. He knew how to charm and deceive and negotiate all night with great leaders. What he didn't know, however, was how to talk to his friends. 

They forgot about time as they talked. Occassionally, Mycroft would stand to get a glass of water, or Molly would absently stroke Toby as he wrapped himself around her feet. They talked about their jobs, their times at universities. 

They continued to talk, even after Mycroft had left. The texts they sent each other didn't peter off and they often made the other laugh. Molly learnt to expect a vase of roses whenever she told Mycroft about having a bad day. He knew that the different colours intrigued her, so Anthea learnt where to find the most beautiful (and expensive) florists in London. Mycroft soon spotted a pattern that whenever he turned up at Molly's flat after a stressful day, there would be a box of homemade muffins waiting, in a variety of flavours. He wasn't usually able to tell her what was wrong, but he just had to run his hands over his face and sigh loudly. That was the most emotional he got, Molly thought, since nobody else ever seemed to see him looking upset or stressed. Once, when she was talking to John, he confessed that, as a doctor, it seemed unhealthy that Mycroft had never laughed. Molly had managed to hide her confusion and nod along with John, but as she stepped out of 221B Baker Street that evening, she giggled as she realised she was probably the only person who could make Mycroft laugh.


	7. Chapter 7

Christmas Eve rolled around and Molly was having a fun afternoon. She was decorating her tree and dancing to cheesy Christmas music when she heard a sniggering from behind her. Mycroft had silently opened her door (she had given him a key, even though she suspected he could enter anyway) and was now sat on her sofa, another bouquet of roses held in his hand. In a very Christmassy fashion, they were dark red and pale green, with a big bow wrapped around them.   
“Oh my god, Mycroft! Nearly gave me a heart attack!” She laughed. He extended his hand and she took the roses, running to her windowsill where she kept them in her favourite vase. She ran back to him and grabbed him by the hand, pulling him up and spinning them around merrily to the tune of 'Jingle Bells'.  
“Molly, have you been drinking?” laughed Mycroft.  
“No, I'm just happy to see you!” she joined in his laughter, arching her back so he didn't push her into the sofa. He wasn't really much of a dancer, unlike his brother.   
They gave up dancing and collapsed on the sofa once they were both out of breath and red in the face. Molly used a plate of mince pies to bribe Mycroft into watching a classic Christmas film, and she placed her head in his lap – just to make sure he wouldn't escape. Halfway through the film, she started to feel his hands running through her hair, plaiting the sides.   
Just as her eyes began to drift shut under the soothing feel of his elegant fingers, a knock interrupted them. Molly sat straight up like a deer in headlights and Mycroft weaved his fingers out of her hair. She glanced at him and, rather than the usual Iceman he was, he simply looked curiously towards the door. She sighed, getting up and peering through the peephole.   
“It's only John,” she whispered back to Mycroft, but to her surprise, he stood up and scarpered into her bedroom. Shaking her head, she unhooked the chain and flung the door open.  
“John! Merry Christmas!”  
“Thanks, Molls, you too,” he said, wrapping her in a hug.  
“Sherlock isn't with you?” She asked and very briefly, she thought she heard the tiniest sigh of relief come from her bedroom.  
“Nah, he's still composing. Anyway, we're having a party in about two hours, just a little get together. You know, Greg, Mrs Hudson. I did text earlier, but you didn't reply, so I thought I'd come see you face to face since I'm on my way to pick up Jeanette.”  
“Oh, John, that'd be lovely, thank you! I need some time to get ready, but I'll meet you at yours?”  
“That's great, thanks Molly!”  
They exchanged a few more words, Molly asking after Sherlock, before John's phone buzzed and he ran off to meet Jeanette.

Almost as soon as she closed the door, Mycroft stepped back out of his hiding place.  
“Sorry about that, I wanted to avoid my brother. I suppose I'd best be off then.”  
“Awh come on Mycroft! You could come with me? I'm sure John wouldn't mind,”  
“I don't particularly want to see Sherlock and I doubt he wants to see me either,” a flash of regret crossed his face.  
“At least stay until I leave?” Molly held up a hand before he could protest. “Like you've said, so many times, you have a good fashion sense and you can tell me what to wear.”   
Mycroft smiled and sat down. Molly nodded at him then hurried into her bedroom. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and grinned. Mycroft was apparently very good at plaiting hair and they did make her look nice. She decided to keep them in for the party and just slid a silver clip in to keep them in place. She considered what John had been wearing – a very causal attire – jeans and a red Christmas jumper. She slipped on a black mini skirt and an oversized white Christmas jumper and slipped into the sitting room again.  
“You do look lovely, Molly, but I'd like my brother to squirm when a classy and beautiful woman steps into his scruffy little flat. You are already, of course, classy and beautiful, but you could accentuate this.”  
With that, Mycroft stepped into her bedroom and Molly followed him in a fluster. It had been over a year since someone had called her beautiful and she had definitiely never expected it from a Holmes.   
Mycroft was opening and closing each drawer and was getting dangerously close to her lingerie, which Molly knew would make him stutter and make things awkward.   
“You won't find anything in there, it's just more skirts. Let's check the wardrobe,”  
“Very well.” In a flash, Mycroft was skimming through each gartment and he picked out three items; all dresses.   
Molly smiled as she picked up one of them. “This is what I wore to dinner with you in February,”  
“So it is. You looked very pretty. Maybe not that one, since a maxi dress will just get damp in this snow. Try on the other two.”  
“Okay.” She fiddled with the hem of her jumper, but he did not move. “Mycroft, I need to take these off,”  
“Oh! Of course, sorry!” he spun on his heel and left the room, calling behind him that he'd be ready when she was.   
The first dress she tried on was burgundy with black seams. She stepped outside and did a mock twirl. Mycroft looked dazed for a second, then shook his head. “You look lovely Molly, but we want something a bit more... jazzy.”  
Molly nodded and went back into her room to try on the other dress. It was a black dress with silver spaghetti straps and a sparkly stripe on the top of the dress. It was low enough to accentuate her cleavage without being slutty. It matched the silver clip in her hair and she had some perfect earrings for it. She slipped the earrings on, brushed on some red lipstick and touched up her eyeliner before stepping into the sitting room again. She smiled shyly at Mycroft this time, her hand fiddling with one of the straps.  
“My god, Molly. That's beautiful.”  
“Is it “jazzy” enough?” She joked.  
“More than. Now, put on these to keep warm. They'll look good too – everything goes with black.” She slipped her arms into the green check coat that he was holding for her and he wrapped a plain yellow scarf around her. “Lovely.” He glanced at his pocket watch. “Now, you'd best be off, it's been nearly two hours.”


	8. Chapter 8

Molly and Mycroft left the flat. Molly hailed a taxi and Albert brought the Bentley to Mycroft.   
There was a note on the door of Baker Street so Molly went straight up. She suddenly felt very self conscious as she got appreciative glances from John and Greg. Jeanette poked John in the side and Sherlock just rolled his eyes, still looking at his violin.  
Meanwhile, Mycroft had activated the security camera that he had hidden in his brother's fireplace. He poured himself a glass of scotch from the expensive bottle that Sherlock had gifted him (their mother had bought it and nagged Sherlock about the family spirit of Christmas, until he handed it over). At first, it seemed quite a boring party. Mrs Hudson was tipsy and Sherlock was insulting John's new girlfriend. Eventually, Molly entered, clutching bags of presents and greeting everybody. John was not-so-subtley poked in the hip by Jeanette when he took her coat and Greg pulled her aside, whispering something. Mycroft felt a flash of jealously and focused more sharply on his friend. John and Sherlock were discussing something aobut the blog, but Mycroft only had eyes for Molly.  
“How's the hip?” Molly addressed Mrs Hudson.   
“Oh, it's atrocious, but thanks for asking,” she replied and Mycroft silently willed John to confiscate her glass of port.   
“I've seen much worse. But then, I do post mortems,” joked Molly and Mycroft chuckled.   
Sherlock finally looked up from the computer. “Don't make jokes, Molly.” Mycroft's temper flared and he hissed into the darkness of his office “don't tell her what to do, brother mine!”  
By the time he had downed his scotch, Sherlock had managed to annoy Greg (about his wife) and John (about his sister) as well.   
“I see you've got a new boyfriend, Molly.” Mycroft froze.  
“Sorry, what?” Molly looked confused, but her grip on the wine glass tightened ever so slightly.  
“And you're seeing him this very night, and giving him a gift!” Sherlock continued.  
“Take a day off, Sherlock.” John warned.   
“Shut up and have a drink.” Greg looked like he wanted to throw his wine.  
Sherlock ignored them both. “Oh, come on! Surely you've all seen the present at the top of the bag! Perfectly wrapped with a bow, all the others are slapdash at best. It's for someone special then?” Sherlock leaned down. “The shade of red echoes the lipstick, either an unconscious association or one that she's delibrately trying to encourage.” Mycroft's mind fell back to when she emerged from her bedroom with the red lipstick. But Sherlock had carried on at breakneck speed. “Either way, Miss Hooper has love on her mind. The fact that she's serious about him is clear from the fact that she's giving him a gift at all. Suggests long term hopes, however forlorn. She's seeing him tonight as evident from her makeup and what she's wearing. Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts - ” Sherlock stopped suddenly and Mycroft glared at the screen. He was looking down at the parcel in his hands. Mycroft squinted and saw that the tag said “Sherlock”.   
Molly bit back a sob. “You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always...”  
“I am sorry, forgive me.” Sherlock muttered and Mycroft was startled, unsure whether he had ever heard his brother apologise before. However, Mycroft was soon distracted by Molly again and she passed her wine to John and ran out the flat. Mycroft shut his laptop with an almighty crash, his hand clutched tightly around the neck of the scotch bottle and anger pumping through his veins. He stepped outside and went to the street, raising his hand and hailing a taxi. He couldn't be bothered to wait for Albert to bring the car and he didn't know how long he'd be.


	9. Chapter 9

Molly was still wearing her makeup but her dress was crumpled in the corner and she had changed into her comfiest pyjamas. She had turned the telly on to mask her sobs from her nosy neighbour, but someone started bashing at her door. She instintively knew it wouldn't be Sherlock – he didn't understand emotions and he wouldn't leave his flat unless it was for a case.  
“John, go away, I don't wanna talk!” she muted the telly and shouted from her sofa, her voice breaking slightly.  
“It's not John!” a very familiar voice shouted back. The aristocratic tones were laced with fury.  
She ran to the door and flung it open. Mycroft stood there in his own pyjamas and dressing gown. Molly wasn't surprised to see that the silk button down had black pinstripes. There was no way that Mycroft would ever wear something as casual as what she was wearing – bedshorts and a cami top.   
“You knocked?” was the only words she could manage.  
“I forgot my key,” he replied in a similar simple tone. “I was about to retire to bed but I saw what my brother said to you. He disgusts me, Molly.”  
“It's okay, really, he doesn't know better.” She wondered why she was making excuses for him when it was obvious from her red eyes that she definitely wasn't okay.  
Mycroft shuddered. Molly wasn't sure whether it was from his anger or the cold. She suspected it was both, so she grabbed his navy dressing gown and yanked him inside her flat. “Sit.” She ordered, pointing at the sofa where she had snuggled under her duvet with a box of tissues and a bottle of squirty cream.   
Mycroft obediently sat and Molly joined him, shaking out the duvet and covering both of them with it.  
“I believe you may be right. My brother has the mind of a scientist or philosopher, but he understands little about human emotion. Despite this, he still upset you.”  
“Yeah...” Molly didn't even try to deny it. “But, um, why are you holding that?” She gestured towards the bottle of scotch in his hand that he had forgotten to put down before he hailed the taxi.  
“Oh, I didn't notice. I came here in a bit of a hurry.”  
“You look like you're in the mood to drown your sorrows, do you want a glass?”  
“You must join me, Molly. It was a Christmas present from brother mine, so I propose that we waste it. In other words, let's get pissed.”  
Molly laughed, slightly shocked at his language. She plucked two glasses out of her kitchen cupboard. “This is the closest I can find, I don't even think I know what a scotch glass looks like!” she held out two wine glasses and gestured for him pour the drink.


	10. Chapter 10

An hour later, the bottle was half empty and the telly was still on, but Molly's tears were those of hysteria rather than embarrassment.  
“Tell me you're joking!” she hiccuped.  
“Nope! I swear, he had a half pint and got so drunk that he puked on our aunt!” cackled Mycroft, very clearly slurring.  
They laughed until they had to stop for breath, then Mycroft hiccuped and they started laughing all over again. Mycroft suddenly calmed down and Molly took a deep breath and turned to him.  
“Molly, do you still have feelings for my brother?”  
“No! What makes you say that?”  
“The present...”  
“It wasn't meant for Sherlock”  
“But you wrote his name on the tag - ”  
“It wasn't my handwriting, Mycroft. I went to the shop on the way to Baker Street and they did the thing where they wrap the present for you. But the cashier recognised me from the picture of me and Sherlock in the newspaper and when I said “to Mr Holmes,” she just assumed it was Sherlock. I didn't check. I should have checked.” she babbled, almost gasping for breath when she was done. She was staring at Mycroft intensely and when she eventually blinked, a single tear ran down her cheek, but this time, she wasn't laughing.  
“Mr Holmes?”  
“Yes, Mycroft.”  
“My father?”  
“You silly man, I've never met your dad or your mum! The present was for you. And, just to let you know, the association with the red lipstick wasn't unconscious.” Molly flushed as red as the present and stood up, turning away from Mycroft. As she put her wine glass in the sink, she felt a strong hand grip her shoulder.

Time seemed to stand still as he gently took her face in his hands and brushed his lips against hers. Even in a scotch addled state, he was hesitant, until Molly ran her hands up his neck and through his soft dark hair, deepening the kiss and pulling herself closer so he didn't have to lean down so far. He kissed back, his tongue colliding with hers. She kissed her way down his jaw and sucked at the pulse point on his neck.  
“Molly!” he gasped desperately.  
“Ohhhh, I know!”  
“No, I mean, Molly, are you sure this is what you want?”  
“More than,”  
With those two simple words of confirmation, he spun her round, his mouth latching on to her shoulder and his hand massaging her breast in a drunken grapple. Her knees buckled and he easily swept her up, kicking open her bedroom door and laying her down on the bed and yanking her bed shorts down. Molly pushed herself up on her elbows and fiddled with the hem of his pyjama shirt. “These, off, now.”  
Mycroft fiddled with the knot on his dressing gown, taking agonisingly long. Too long for Molly. She batted his hands out of the way and quickly undid the knot, ripping his shirt open and pawing at his trousers until they fell down at his feet.  
“Mycroft Carlton Holmes. Who knew you were hiding this between those sexy suits?” she licked her finger and ran it down his length, resulting in a desperate moan. She glanced up at him from under her eyelashes. He was staring at her with his mouth hanging open and his eyes filled with a longing, almost like he craved her. With a flare of energy, driven by his passion, he picked her up and threw her on the bed beside him, crawling up so they were at eye level. He hissed at the friction of the bed sheets against his member as he moved up, but otherwise he remained quiet, but his hand ran down her body, gliding between her breasts and going in circular motions around her naval. He eventually found what he was looking for and the silence of the room was broken by Molly's panting. She was already gloriously wet for him and as his fingers pistoned in and out of her, he felt her tighten around his hand and she let out an almost animalistic cry, screaming his name as she came.  
She astonished him by recovering almost immediately and as soon as she got her breath back, she grabbed his shoulders and whispered “Please, Mycroft.”  
She spread her legs for him and he captured her mouth is one sweet kiss. He wrapped one hand in her hair and grabbed himself in one hand and aligned himself with her, before pushing as deep as he could.  
“God, Molly, you feel -”  
“Ohh, I know, so do you!” She moaned and arched her back, her head buried in the crook of his neck as he began to rock. She mumbled something into his shoulder that he couldn't interpret through his own bliss. She raised her head ever so slightly and said “move!” He didn't need to be told twice and she wrapped her long legs around his waist as he furiously thrust into her, almost coming dislodged. The hand in her hair fell out and wrapped around her back as he kissed her with as much passion as he had, his other hand frantically rubbing her swollen nub.  
“Molly – please - ” he couldn't manage any other words as he felt his balls tighten.  
Her hands tightened and she said between moans: “me too, just let go.”  
So he did.  
He buried her face between her breasts and rode out his orgasm. The feel of him inside her triggered her as she came again, shuddering and biting his collarbone. 

They lay quietly, their legs tangled together. Reluctantly, Molly pulled her leg out from under his back and rolled on to her back.  
“My god, Mycroft, that was fantas-”  
She was interrupted by a loud snore. He had fallen asleep, exhausted from the scotch and the shagging. She gently slung an arm over him and let herself fall to sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

Molly awoke to a dawn sunlight that seemed far too bright.   
“Ughhhh” her voice was raspy and her throat hurt. She went to sit up to close the curtains, but her kicked something in the bed next to her. The previous night came flooding back to her and she froze. Mycroft simply grunted and rolled over.  
Once she was assured that he was still asleep, she put her head in her hands and groaned despairingly. “Oh no” she groaned. She could taste scotch and sweat and sex. As she raised her head, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her heavy eye makeup had smudged, making her look like a panda. She glanced back at Mycroft and gently pulled the duvet back. The bruise on his neck was tinged with red lipstick.  
She groaned again and stood up, her world spinning. The only thing she could think of right now was that she needed to shower and brush her teeth.

Once the water was running, Mycroft opened his eyes. He had woken up when she had kicked him and he was about to sit up and embrace her, when she had said “oh no”. He took out his fountain pen and a pocket notebook from his dressing gown and scribbled a note. He send two texts and lef the note on Molly's pillow.  
5 minutes later, he opened Molly's door to Anthea and Albert. Anthea was holding a coat and Albert was clutching the car keys. From the look on Mycroft's face, neither of them made fun of him or asked where he was. The look on his face was somewhat shielded, but it confused Anthea. She had seen him angry at politicians, she had seen him sad when his uncle died, but she had never seen him like this.

Molly had not yet emerged from her shower and Mycroft shut the door very quietly so as not to alarm her. He shrugged his coat on and let Albert lead him to the car. Anthea knew that Albert wasn't aware of whose home this was, but she hovered. She wanted to knock on the door and apologise on Mycroft's behalf, find out what had happened, ask whether Molly was okay. But with a quick shake of her head, she hurried after the two men.

Molly left the bathroom in a fluffy white towel, pink from the shower and her wet hair tied up. Her head still hurt but that could be resolved with paracetamol and a fry up, and at least she smelt nice now.   
She knocked on her door and quietly said “Mycroft?”  
She got no reply so she just went in. To her surprise, there was no lump under the duvet.  
“Mycroft?!” she shouted, loud enough so that he would be able to hear from her balcony. She winced at her own noise. No reply.   
She sighed and resigned back to her bedroom to get dressed, when a piece of paper on her pillow caught her eye. It was handwritten in very recognisable spidery manner. 

Molly,  
I do apologise for my behaviour last night. I believe I am not solely to blame, for, as the saying goes, it takes two to tango. Furthermore, the scotch addled both you and I. I hope you are not angry over my abrupt departure but I know you regret this, so I shall save you the pain of embarrassment.   
Regards,  
MH

Molly reread it, shocked. Why did he think she regretted it? They'd had enough scotch to loosen them up, but Molly was sure that she was remembering Mycroft correctly – as a sex god.


	12. Chapter 12

“You didn't need to come in, Molly.” Muttered Sherlock, leaning over the body on the slab.  
“That's okay. Everyone else was busy with New Year.” It was actually a week into January by now, but Sherlock ignored her mistake. Her eyes were fixated on the body, whose records named her as Irene Adler. When the two brothers had entered, she had tried to catch Mycroft's eye, but he resolutely ignored her. Molly assumed that Sherlock was in dire need of support or Mycroft hadn't realised Molly was on duty. To be fair to him, she was doing overtime so he wasn't to know. Since their night together, Mycroft had been avoiding her and she missed her best friend so she was focusing on work. “Ah, the face is a bit – sort of – bashed up, so it might be a bit difficult.”  
“That's her, isn't it?” Mycroft spoke to Sherlock, who ignored him.  
“Show me the rest of her” Sherlock demanded. Molly pulled back the sheet further. “That's her.” Sherlock confirmed, then strode out.  
“Thank you, Miss Hooper.” Mycroft continued to look at his umbrella.  
Molly tried not to show her disappointment at the fact that he couldn't even look at her or call her Molly.  
“Mycroft, we need to sort this out.” tears sprung to her eyes. At hearing her sniffle, he looked up and immediately flushed.  
“Our night together was clearly a drunken mistake, Molly.”  
“Is that what you think? Your note said about being embarrassed but it didn't say whether you regretted it!”  
“You're an attractive woman and I tried to woo you but you only seemed to want to be friends.”  
“Because you didn't make it clear! You're the British government, the Ice Man, what am I to expect? You're dead sexy but you're you, I couldn't just snog you and you didn't seem to notice my attempts at seduction!”  
“What attempts at seduction?!” Mycroft was nearly shouting.  
“The dancing, the cuddling, the tiny pyjamas!”  
“Yes, but when I asked you out on a date last February, you – I don't know how to say it – friend zoned me?”  
Molly rolled her eyes at his clear discomfort with the use of slang. “We're getting off track. Why did you think I regretted our night together?”  
“Because you didn't wake me up. Because you said “oh no.””  
“You think I regret two – frankly mind blowing – orgasms?”  
“Having an orgasm and having me are two completely separate things, Molly.”  
“What about all the stuff I said about the gift before we went to bed?”  
“You were drunk, I assumed you didn't mean it.”  
“Well, I did. I'm gonna be blunt, Mycroft. I want you. Do you want me?”  
“More than anything. I haven't felt this way in a long time, Molly, and it scares me.”  
“It scares me too. Face up to your fears, Mycroft.” She reached out a hand to touch his cheek. He nuzzled into her, then bent his head and kissed his way up her wrist until touching her lips gently. He delved his tongue into her mouth.  
After five minutes, Molly pulled back. “Mycroft” she panted “you'd better get us back quickly, else I'm going to embarrass myself!”  
“Would that be such a bad thing, my dear?”  
She stared at him for a moment and thought he'd never looked so attractive before, his hair tousled, his tie loose and his lips swollen. “My office is that way,” she jerked a thumb towards a door. “the doctor will see you now.”  
Mycroft laughed and picked her up easily, carrying her into the office. His eyes gleamed mischievously and with one easy swish of his arm, he knocked everything off her desk and threw her over the desk. She gripped the edge of the table and he swiftly flipped her skirt up before pushing into her.

“You're shaking like a leaf, are you okay?” He just nodded in reply and Molly realised he was straining to hold himself back. The vein in his neck was sticking out and he was practically hyperventilating. She put a hand on his arm and he glanced down. “Let go, Mycroft. I'm close too.” With that, his shoulders slumped and he came, spurting inside her and triggering her own orgasm. She tightened her grip on the table and pressed her heels into the small of his back. To her surprise, when she recovered and looked up, Mycroft had teared up. They were both covered in films of sweat and her legs ached as she stood, but she wouldn't have changed it for anything.

“Better than the first time” laughed Molly.  
“Practise makes perfect,”  
They both giggled for a minute.  
“I regretted it because we were drunk. There was no passion or love,”  
He stopped for second. “Love?”  
“Oh god I didn't mean – you know what, actually, you've just fucked me, sure, I love you!”   
Mycroft's smile lit up his eyes and Molly could see the Ice Man inside him thawing as he leant down shakily for a kiss.  
“I love you too, Molly Hooper.”  
“Glad to hear it.”


	13. Chapter 13

“Honey?” Molly called down the hospital corridor. Mycroft spun around and smiled at her. He went down the corridor and picked her up, spinning her around. “I missed you.” he said.  
“I missed you too!” she leant down for a kiss and he pushed her against the wall, growling playfully before capturing her mouth with his own.  
Molly always felt very loved in these moments in public, since Mycroft never let anyone else see the sentimental or playful side of him.  
“So, about that body you wanted to see, you think it's murder?”  
“It's very unlikely that you understand what I'm thinking, Stamford.”  
“Yes, he does, Mike.”  
Three faint voices drifted towards Molly and she knew Mycroft would be embarrassed, should they be caught. She pushed a hand against his chest reluctantly, but he misunderstood and snaked his hand under her shirt, massaging her breast. She leaned her head back and moaned gently.  
“Brother?!”  
“Molly?!”  
“What the hell is going on here?”  
Mycroft stood up straight suddenly, the icy mask falling back down. But it was too late. Sherlock looked disgusted, Mike looked confused and Greg looked furious.  
“I can explain!” he winced. He sounded pathetic and he hadn't said something like that since he was 10 and his mother caught him with his hand in the sweet jar.  
Molly interrupted. “No, you can't, Mycroft.”  
He looked at her, as astonished as the other three people, but she continued.  
“We're together. We have been for the past 2 months and we're very happy.” She paused, then saw Sherlock shudder and turned to him. “And we're having quite a lot of sex.”  
“Brother dear, I thought you were above such trivial matters as intercourse.”  
“I was. I still am. I refused to admit it but I was lonely and Molly has made me life better. And like she said, the sex is phenomenal.”  
“Nice try, Mycroft. Sex doesn't alarm me.”  
“How would you know?”  
The next thing Mycroft saw was Sherlock letting go of Lestrade's coat, and a fist being smacked into his jaw.

“Ow.”  
“Oh, don't be such a baby. I've had corpses make more of a fuss than you.”  
“Don't exaggerate Molly, you know I detest it.”  
“He didn't even break the skin!”  
“No, but it's sore! Lestrade hit me! I blame Sherlock.”  
“I know. I was there. I think he would have kicked you too, had I not calmed him down.”  
“I don't understand why he was so upset.”  
“Because he treats me like a little sister – more so than my real big brother – and he caught you copping a feel!”  
“Molly, don't potray me as so vulgar.”  
“Oh, don't dilly dally with your fancy words. Your tongue was in my mouth, your cock on my leg and your hand up my shirt. I've never heard such an accurate description of copping a feel.”  
“Ew!” Molly spun around to Sherlock, still holding the antiseptic wipe.  
Mycroft groaned. “Not again.”  
“You two are as bad as each other. You're 27 and 34, for gods sake!”  
“But - ”  
“No buts!”  
With that, both brothers shut up. Mycroft allowed Molly to continue dabbing at the bruise on his jaw and Sherlock merely leant on the table, smirking at his brother.  
“Molly, can I speak now?” Sherlock said.  
“Don't say anything mean.”  
“I just wanted to let you know that John took Gavin back to the station, so you're safe, Mycroft.”  
“Gavin?”  
“George? Grant?”  
“Do you mean Greg?”  
“Lestrade, yes.”  
Molly just shook her head disbelievingly, smiled, and turned back to Mycroft.  
Sherlock turned up the collar on his coat and stood up to leave. Just before he reached the door, he turned back slightly.  
“And thank you, Molly. I think you're going to turn out to be the best thing that's ever happened to my brother.”  
With that, he swept away, his coat billowing behind him.  
Mycroft's face was one of astonishment and he batted the antiseptic away, pulling Molly in for a kiss as she laughed shakily.


	14. Chapter 14

By April, Molly and Mycroft were sitting in his apartment. They were watching Mycroft's flatscreen television (anything except the news, on Mycroft's request. How would she like to watch a show about pathology straight after work?). Unexpectedly, Mycroft turned the television off and turned to Molly.  
“Molly dear, how would you like to come to my house next week? I know Stamford told you to take a break.”  
“What do you mean, your house?”  
“I'm not sure how else to describe it. My place of residence?”  
“But I'm here right now!”  
“Oh! I understand your confusion. No, I mean a literal house. It's where I usually live but it's easier for you to come here, surely?”  
“Well, yeah, it's in walking distance. So you own two houses?”  
“Three, technically.” he smiled sheepishly and scratched his chin, a nervous habit.  
“Bloody hell, where's the third?”  
“Norway. It's just a little cabin, close to a skiing resort.”   
“I often forget how rich you are.”  
“Be fair, this is a flat and the Norway residence is a cabin.”  
“There's a difference between a flat and a penthouse, Mycroft!”  
“Anyway, we've gone off track.”  
“Alright. I'd love to come to the house. Where is it?”  
“Just on the outskirts of Richmond. It has four acres of land, I know you'll love the garden.”  
“Okay, I'll book some time off work.”  
“That's done. I spoke to Mr Stamford.”  
“Okay, I'll nip to Primark and grab some lighter clothes to relax in the garden.”  
“That's done. It's not Primark, but Anthea's already been shopping for you.”  
“I can't afford to pay her back! I go to Primark because it's cheap – wait – how did she know what size to get for me?”  
“Molly, the amount of times I've ripped your clothes off - ”  
“You told Anthea?!”  
“Don't worry, my dear, she's very discreet. And money's not a problem, I paid for it.”  
“I'll let you off the hook just this once then. Anthea's a darling anyway. How much did it come to?”  
Mycroft coughed a figure.  
“Say that again?”  
“Somewhere in the region of... £500.”  
Molly promptly sat down and snatched Mycroft's scotch, downing it in one gulp. 

The next morning, Molly opened the door to Anthea.   
“Oh, hey, Anthea, Mycroft said you'd come round today. Bit early isn't it?”  
“Sorry, hun, I've got a meeting later and I really wanted to see whether I was right about these clothes,” Anthea gestured towards the 6 bags she was holding.  
Molly beckoned her into the bedroom, wincing slightly at the mess. Anthea didn't seem to notice. Although it seemed unlike him, Mycroft often left his desk looking like a rubbish tip and Anthea was the one to clean it up. She brushed the pyjamas off the bed and emptied all the bags on to the bed.   
“Anthea, I can't wear these!”  
“Why not?”  
“They're too... sexy! This isn't my style!”  
“Molly, no offence, your style isn't great.” Molly raised her eyebrows. “Wait – let me finish – you've got a great figure and you hardly ever show it off. Just try them on.”  
“Fine.”  
Molly had to admit, she did look good. There were summer dresses. Some were in soft pastel colours; yellow and pink and baby blue and green and lilac and peach. Some had patterns on them, mainly flowers. Molly had to admit that she liked the strappy sleeves and the tight bodices and the flowing skater skirts. There were lacy bralets and crop tops and short shorts. The only thing that closely resembled her style was the dungarees with the embroidery, but Molly admitted that she did like the other clothes. She delved deeper into the piles of clothes and brought up some skinny trousers and some tight jumpers.   
Anthea shrugged. “There was a sale on.”  
“And it still came to half a grand?”  
“It's an expensive shop.”  
Molly blushed and Anthea giggled when she pulled out the lingerie. There were slips and babydolls and and thongs and bras and garters. They were in bolder colours than the rest of the clothes; red and black and purple.  
“I don't expect you to try those on for me, hun. But, can I ask you something?”  
“Sure!”  
“I'm being super nosy and it's not really my place as his assistant – but it is my place as your friend.”  
“You wanna know what the sex is like, don't you?”  
“Well, kind of.” Anthea threw herself back on the bed. “I don't want the gory details, but is he as icy as he usually is?”  
“No! It's really... passionate and sweet and, well, hot. He's strong and toned and big,”  
“No, no, no more!”   
Molly laughed, embarrassed.  
“You really love him, don't you?”  
“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”


	15. Chapter 15

Molly trudged up the long gravel drive. Mycroft had sent Albert to collect her and had apologised that Albert would be alone sicne he needed to finish some office work. It had taken about 20 minutes to get from Molly's flat to this gorgeous place. On her right, there were two tall black horses grazing peacefully in a field. On her left, there was another field and she could see a lake in the distance.   
She reached the massive wooden doors and was unsure what to do. She didn't just want to walk in. It was silly, but even after seeing each other naked - god knows how many times - she still refused to invade Mycroft's privacy in any way. But she couldn't knock, not with a bag in each hand.   
It startled Molly when the door opened and she saw the woman standing behind it. The lady looked about 50. She was short and round with a smiling face and short grey hair.   
“You must be Miss Hooper?”  
“Yep! Sorry, who are you?”  
“I'm Mrs Ainsworth. I'm the one who cooks and cleans round here.”  
“I didn't realise Mycroft had staff!”  
“Oh he doesn't, dearie, it's just me. He inherited this place from his maternal uncle – I was his uncle's housekeeper and I didn't want to leave so I offered to stay and work for Mr Mycroft. Now, can I take those bags for you?”  
“Oh, yes please!”

“Hello Mrs A, hello Molly.” Mycroft made Molly jump when he came out from one of the rooms and came over to meet her, kissing her on the cheek. “Mrs A, would you be kind enough to take those bags up to the bedroom?” he turned to Molly. “Do you want a tour?” 

The sheer size of the house astounded Molly. The kitchen was the size of her whole flat, with it's own dining table and television on one side. It had large french doors that led out on to a patio. Mycroft gestured beyond the patio, pointing out the barbecue and the pool and the stables and the tennis court.   
“That big stone wall over there, do you see it? There's a lovely walled garden which I'd like to show you later.”  
There was a separate dining room with tall orchids in each corner of the room and a chandelier hanging above the table that could seat 14 people. There were pictures along the far wall that Molly marvelled at.   
Mycroft surprised Molly when he revealed he had an indoor swimming pool and a very small spa with a sauna and a massage table.  
He briefly opened the door to the gym. Molly wasn't surprised to see Mycroft's dramatic touch - a suit of armour.   
The sitting room seemed warm and welcoming. It was the only room with carpet. The large brown leather sofas were covered in tartan quilts and pointed towards the stone fireplace. It didn't seem as organised as the rest of the house; the quilt was fraying and there were coffee rings on the table.   
He didn't open the door, but he did point out his office. “It's not very interesting, I'm afraid. Just a desk and filing cabinets.”  
She was led up the stairs. Mycroft seemed surprised that she was interested in the stern portraits of his ancestors. “It goes back to my great great great great great great grandparents.” He pointed at a very faded painting of a couple at the top of the staircase. Even from 8 generations ago, Molly recognised the curly dark hair on the lady and the pointed nose on the man. She pointed to a picture that looked a lot more modern. “Are those your parents?”  
“No, that's my uncle and aunt. It was originally my uncle's house. I installed this picture of my parents a few years ago.” he waved at the picture at the very bottom of the staircase. His mother was a short round woman with brown hair and a regal posture. Her eyes told Molly how kind she seemed. His father seemed more relaxed, his hair greying slightly and a smile which lit up his eyes. Molly assumed they were both now more grey and wrinkly. At their feet, there was a chubby boy of about 8 years old, clutching a baby with an untamed mop of hair. Molly smiled fondly at the young brothers. As they proceded upstairs, Molly considered that there was room for more portraits and wondered whether she'd be up there one day.  
Mycroft alarmed her slightly by practically running down the hall. He barely gave her a moment to peer inside each bedroom and bathroom before they reached the last door.   
“Go ahead, Molly.”

She opened it hesistantly and gasped. The bed was king sized and had red drapes on either side. The curtains reached from the ceiling to the floor, thick and red enough so they resembled theatre curtains. There were white cushions scattered over the black window seat that looked out over the lake. The cream carpet was so clean that it looked new and there was a soft black rug in the middle. There was mirror in the corner that was bigger than either her or Mycroft. There were two doors in opposite corners. One led to an ensuite, with a shiny black bath with gold taps (“it has jacuzzi jets” inputted Mycroft) and a matching sink. There were yellow towels, multiple hair gels and colognes and a hairdryer in front of a large rectangular mirror. Through the other door was an extensive dressing room – explaining the lack of a wardrobe in the bedroom. Each drawer was carefully organised with watches and cufflinks and socks and boxers and they could be opened with the press of a button. Shoe racks lined one wall and there were multiple wardrobes, stuffed with shirts and ties and trousers and waistcoats and jackets and – much to Molly's surprise – jeans and jumpers. There was a trouser press and an ironing board, which Molly guessed was only used by Mrs Ainsworth.  
“It's gorgeous, Mycro – oh!”  
He surprised her by embracing her from behind, his erection pressing into her backside.  
His voice was raspy. “I've barely been able to contain myself since we got up here.”

She wriggled around and ground herself forwards, hearing him gasp and feeling him harden even more. She snaked a hand between their bodies, agonisingly slowly, until her hand grazed across his fly and she molded her fingers around his member. She swallowed his moan with a hungry kiss and pushed him backwards to the chair in the middle of the dressing room.


	16. Chapter 16

“This box is really heavy, what on earth do you have in here?” Mycroft was struggling down the stairs and Molly knew he couldn't see her so she rolled her eyes.  
“My vases. So be careful!”  
“Your vases? How many do you have?”  
“Well, I had to buy more, what with all those roses you kept buying me,”  
Mycroft peered around the box and saw the twinkle in Molly's eyes.  
“Are you objecting against my attempts to woo you?”  
“Never, my darling.”  
“Please refrain from using pet names, it horrifies me.” said Sherlock from the hallway. “Don't be unkind, Sherlock, else I'll drop this bloody chest of drawers on your foot!” John scolded him. They were dragging a chest of drawers down the hallway, Anthea walking behind and instructing them to not scratch anything.   
“I don't understand why we have to help,” muttered Sherlock.  
“Because it's a nice thing to do and everyone's chipping in,”   
“But Molly's only carrying stuff for Toby!”  
“Yeah, and it's heavy, you prick,”  
Mycroft snorted at that and nearly lost his balance. Molly had run out of tape and one of the vases fell out the box, smashing on the patio below. She looked miserably at it and Mycroft gave her an apologetic look.  
“We have more at the house darling, don't worry about it.”

It was June and Molly was moving the last bits from her flat to Mycroft's house. After the week they spent there together, they missed each other immensely. She had been awoken at 4am when Mycroft unexpectedly crawled into her bed the following week and the next morning, he had asked her to move in.

Mrs Ainsworth was ecstatic that Molly was moving in. To be fair, Molly had missed the housekeeper. Her food was superb and it was nice that Molly didn't have to worry about tidying up after work anymore. She'd become known as Mrs A to Molly as they'd had many nice chats in the kitchen as Mrs A bustled over the stove and Molly sat at the island, peeling potatoes or kneading pastry.


	17. Chapter 17

For the next month, Mycroft and Molly lived in domestic bliss, which Mycroft never expected. 

They went off to their respective jobs early in the morning after a quick breakfast with Mrs Ainsworth. Occassionally, Mycroft would have to leave early and he would wake Molly up with a goodbye kiss. Occassionally, Molly would come home late when she was delayed by Sherlock's demands for new body parts. Molly would pour over post mortem reports on her laptop while Mycroft took calls from the Prime Minister. They'd sit down properly together at dinner and talk about their days, then cuddle up in front of the fire or the television. 

At the weekend, they would lie in until the late hours of the morning. Mrs Ainsworth had weekends off so they'd take turns to make meals. Mycroft would never admit it to Molly, but he secretly loved the Chinese she ordered, so he would pretend to ignore the takeaway guy at the door. Molly would never admit it to Mycroft because he usually burnt the toast and she was an even worse cook, but he was great on the barbecue. In the afternoon, they rode the horses or canoed around the lake or lay in the walled garden or bounded around the tennis court. In the evening, they swam or they relaxed in the sauna or worked out together.

And they had lots of sex.

Sex when neither of them could sleep, late in the night. Molly asked whether Mycroft was still awake, and the next thing she knew, he was kneeling above her, his erection straining to be set free.

Sex in the ensuite, where they took advantage of the jacuzzi jets.

Sex in the garden under the stars with a picnic blanket.

Sex in the office when Mycroft was bored of typing up new legislations. 

Sex in the tennis court when Molly walked out in tight shorts and a sports bra, which ended up flung over the net.

Sex in the gym when they were already sweaty and red faced – because it would be a waste not to.

Sex in the kitchen when Molly got over excited with the whipped cream.

Sex in the sauna when Mycroft stripped and Molly's eyes boggled.

Sex in the swimming pool when Molly bought a new bikini. It was only once. Despite Mycroft's incredibly talented tongue, he nearly drowned.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've changed the title of this fic just because I really wasn't liking how sloppy and simple it seemed before.

“My dear, I have something to tell you.” Mycroft spoke from her lap. They were sat on the sofa, Molly slouched in the corner and Mycroft laid out, his head in her lap.  
“What is it?” Molly asked, her hands winding into his hair.  
“I'm sorry, but I must go to Mexico,” Mycroft expected her to get annoyed, but all she said was:  
“How long for?”  
Mycroft took a deep breath. She had been very calm so far and he wasn't sure how much longer she would remain so. “I'm not sure... at least two months.”  
“Two months?!”  
Mycroft winced as her voice reached a new pitch and her fingers tightened in his hair.  
“Well... why don't I join you?”  
“Molly, I won't allow that, it's too dangerous.”  
“So you're putting yourself in danger?” she crossed her legs so Mycroft was jolted off her lap.  
“I am trained. I've received more training than most men in the military.”  
“I'm not weak, Mycroft.”  
“I never considered the idea that you were. But we're going up against trained assassins.”  
Molly was quiet for a minute, but Mycroft could practically hear the cogs of her brain turning. “Maybe not then.”  
“Definitely not.”  
“Can I at least write to you?” her voice had shifted from an angry tone. She sounded sad, almost shy. Mycroft felt a wave of guilt.  
“No. I'm sorry. There's a high chance that they'll be intercepted and you could be attacked,”  
“Fine.”  
“Are you angry with me for doing this?”  
“No, you have to. I just... don't know what to do with myself now.”  
Mycroft went to lay his head back in her lap, but she shoved him off and stood. “I just need to be alone for a little while.”

She left the room and leant against the wall, glad that he hadn't followed her. Mrs Ainsworth came down the hall, but Molly held a finger to her lips and beckoned her into the office.  
“Mycroft's going away.”  
“Oh, dearie, that's quite a common occurrence. He went away last month too – just before you moved in. Look!” Mrs Ainsworth lifted up a page of the calendar that hung on Mycroft's wall and pointed at the black line that ran through one of the weeks.  
“But he's going away for - ” she stopped suddenly, feeling the blood drain out of her face.  
“Is everything alright?”  
“Um, yes, of course! What's for dinner?”  
“I was thinking pie? Are you sure you're okay? Do you want me to fetch Mr Mycroft?”  
“No, don't fetch Mycroft, I'm fine, really. Best get on with that pie then, Mrs A!”  
Mrs Ainsworth gave her one last curious look and left to the kitchen.  
Molly almost slammed the door behind her, and she would have, but she didn't want to attract Mycroft's attention. Instead, she sat down on the desk heavily and groaned, pulling her phone out and checking her own calendar.  
There it was. All the dates between the 20th and 24th of July were highlighted in red, but she distinctly remembered not having a period. She got terrible cramps and she would have been felt humiliated with Mycroft there. She hadn't really noticed it at that point, she was too happy in her new home. But she flicked forward onto August – the current month – and realised she was 2 days overdue, even though she usually ran like clockwork.


	19. Chapter 19

Molly could barely pick at her pie that evening. Mycroft was worried about her – her stomach had been rumbling earlier – so he tried to attract her by rambling about everything. He even invited Mrs Ainsworth to dine with them, since Molly had taken such a small portion.  
Once Mycroft had finished eating, Molly realised she had to do something or he'd realise something was wrong. She turned to Mrs Ainsworth.  
“You're going on holiday next week, aren't you Mrs A?”  
“Yes, dearie. I'm going down to Cornwall.”  
“Doing anything nice or just relaxing?”  
“My son and his wife recently had their first child so I'm going to help out,” she smiled.   
Molly's heart dropped. “Are they struggling a bit then?”  
“Well, Thomas is their first child, so, yes, a bit. Every parent does though.”  
Despite her attempts to hide it, Mycroft thought Molly seemed a bit upset by this. He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder and Mrs Ainsworth excused herself, gathering the plates together. As soon as he heard the dishwasher being stacked, Mycroft spoke.   
“What's wrong darling?”  
“I don't know what you mean.”  
“The lack of appetite? The interrogation of Mrs A?”  
“It's nothing, okay?!” before Mycroft could say anything else, she brushed his hand off her shoulder and stood up, the chair flying backwards. Mycroft called after her as she stalked upstairs and slammed the door. 

Half an hour later, Mycroft went upstairs to join Molly. He realised it was wrong to nag her and he wanted to apologise. The door to their bedroom was open, but Molly wasn't in there – or the ensuite or the dressing room. He tried the other doors, but Molly wasn't in any of the bathrooms. With a sinking heart and a hope he was wrong, he tried the last door – a spare bedroom – to find it locked. Mrs Ainsworth was dusting the paintings, so he hung over the stairwell.  
“Mrs A, did you lock one of these doors?”  
“No, Mr Mycroft. Is everything okay?”  
“Yes, yes, it's fine.”  
He pressed an ear to the door and could hear very faint sobbing. He tried wiggling the doorknob again, to no avail. He knocked instead and leant against the door.  
“Molly. I'm sorry. Come to bed?”  
Silence.  
“Molly? I know I nagged you a bit, but you've never seemed this upset.”  
Mycroft nearly fell over as the door was flung open. “It's not the nagging! It's – oh – never mind! Just fuck off to Mexico!” He caught a glimpse of her tear stained face as she slammed the door again.


	20. Chapter 20

Molly woke up at noon the next day. Instead of feeling well rested, she felt miserable. “Pregnancy fatigue,” she muttered to herself. When she tried to open the door, she was stopped by the lock and suddenly felt guilty for how she had treated Mycroft. She knocked on their bedroom door, but received no response. There was no way he was still asleep – he had a schedule - a heavy sleep and an alarm at 9am (he objected to Molly's claims that he 'snored like a walrus'). She poked her head around the door, expecting him to be smoothing his hair down or straightening his tie. The room was empty. 

“Mrs A, where's Mycroft?” It had taken Molly a while to find the housekeeper, much to her surprise. When she wasn't cleaning, she'd sit at the kitchen island with a pot of tea and a book.  
“He's gone, dearie,” she sat up on her sunlounger, putting her wine glass on the table next to her and pushing her sunglasses up, a look of confusion crossing her face.  
“What?”  
“I think he said it was Mexico, this time,”  
Molly ran herself through yesterday's events and realised she never asked Mycroft when he was going. “I didn't realise he was going today!”  
“He was going to leave tomorrow, but he seemed in an awful rush this morning. Didn't even stop for breakfast and a chat. Did he not say?”  
Molly did not expect him to take her literally yesterday. He could have at least said goodbye or confirmed how long he would be gone for. Now she wouldn't see him for two months. That meant she'd be... three months pregnant by the time he got back.  
“Dearie?” Mrs Ainsworth interrupted her train of thought and she jumped.  
“Yeah?”  
“I said, do you want some wine?”  
“Oh. Yes please.”  
Mrs Ainsworth handed her the glass and she took a sip before her stomach turned and she remembered. She panicked and spat the wine into the pool. Mrs Ainsworth was looking at her curiously. “Everything alright?”  
“It just... didn't taste good.”  
“It's not that. You liked this wine last week. You've got pale.”  
“Look at you with your deductions! What are you, a Holmes?”  
Mrs Ainsworth ignored her quip and stared at her. “You're pregnant,” she whispered. It wasn't a question. Molly didn't need to say anything – the quiver of her lip was enough for Mrs Ainsworth to gather her up into a hug.

“Does Mr Mycroft know?”  
Once Molly had cried all she could, Mrs Ainsworth walked her into the living room, fussing like a mother hen.  
“No.”  
“How far along are you?”  
“I'm not quite sure. I haven't actually done a test yet.”  
“Oh Molly. Maybe you're panicking about nothing,”  
“But I missed two periods.”  
“Have you been sick?”  
“No, but I have had other symptoms. I'm grumpy and I'm tired and I think I've gained a bit of weight.”  
“Right. We're going into town. The nearest pharmacy is a 10 minute walk – or would you rather drive?”  
“I don't have the energy to walk right now.”  
“I'll drive us.”

Mrs Ainsworth surprised Molly by emerging from the garage in a red sports car.  
“There's no way that this belongs to Mycroft?!”  
Mrs Ainsworth laughed. “No, but he gives me a good wage so he indirectly paid for it. It's mine.”

“I don't know which one to get!” Molly wailed. A few other shoppers looked up and Molly blushed but Mrs Ainsworth didn't even blink. It made Molly wonder whether she had done this before.  
“Well. You said you don't know how far along you are, so how about this one?” She picked up a pastel orange box. It was expensive, but it said how many weeks along the mother was. It picked up on unusual hormones too – something else Molly hadn't thought of, she realised.  
“I want more than one. I need to be sure.”  
“Don't you work at a hospital? They can do blood tests and the like.”  
“I don't wanna risk it. Someone might tell Mycroft and I wanna be the one to tell him.”  
A brunette who was repeatedly glancing over butted in. “I'm a nurse and we have to keep patient confidentiality.”  
Molly ignored her and rolled her eyes at Mrs Ainsworth. Mycroft was the British government – he knew everything.  
They left with 10 pregnancy tests and a bill of £100.


	21. Chapter 21

“Any luck?!” Mrs Ainsworth called from the other side of the door.  
“No!” Molly was near tears. Her body was clearly working against her and refusing to pee. “I'd say it was a piss take, but that's the problem!”  
“Do you want another drink?”  
“We've tried everything!” Molly was right. She had tried decaf tea, squash, juice, milk and water. Now she felt queasier than she had before.  
“Maybe you've got a shy bladder. I'll give you some space.”  
Molly heard footsteps retreating, and almost immediately started peeing.

5 minutes later, she was sat on the toilet seat. All 10 pregnancy tests were laid out along the rim of the bath. She had carefully aligned them while she was waiting for the results. All 10 pregnancy tests were positive. The door was already open, but Mrs Ainsworth knocked quietly and Molly just jerked her head to invite her in. She glanced at the bath and patted Molly on the shoulder.  
“So you're a month gone already?”  
“I guess so,”  
“You're quite lucky,” Mrs Ainsworth laughed, then hastily explained herself when Molly's eyes brimmed. “You haven't been getting sick,”  
“It's only a matter of time.”  
“Come on dearie, don't be like that. I know it's a shock and I know it's not what you wanted right now, but a beautiful baby is a blessing.”  
"We were stupid." "You're young and in love, I remember that. And Mr Mycroft seems more eager for early nights now, I must say. Protection doesn't always work." Molly blushed at that and Mrs Ainsworth smirked at her. “Mycroft won't want it.”  
“We don't know that. Mr Mycroft has never been in a position like this before. Except when - ”  
Molly's head snapped up then. “'Except when' what?”  
“It's nothing. Forget it. It'll be a shock to him, but he'll love it. Now, I really must go pack.” and with that, she was gone in the blink of an eye. Molly tried to do and she said and forget it – she had bigger things to worry about now.


	22. Chapter 22

“I jinxed it” Molly groaned, hugging the toilet. She had woken up at 4am as a wave of nausea rolled over her and had only just made it to the bathroom. It was two weeks after she found out she was pregnant and the house was empty. It seemed like a different place without Mycroft's dry humour and Mrs Ainsworth's kind words. It spooked her at night and she had considered moving back into her flat until Mycroft came back. He had made no attempt to contact her and, whilst she knew that he couldn't because it would put her in danger, she couldn't help think that he was angry at her after their last night together. She really hoped he wasn't, else it would be terribly awkward when he came back. With that in mind, she started crying and, through her tears, sighed. She cried at everything nowadays. 

The first few days after the test, she had done everything she could to take her mind off the baby. She helped Mrs Ainsworth pack for her trip, she played tennis, she cooked, she sunbathed, she gardened, she cleaned, she explored the rest of the house.  
It was when Mrs Ainsworth had left and she tried to get on Domino (one of Mycroft's black stallions who had taken a liking to Molly) for a leisurely hack, when she felt a searing pain through her abdomen.  
“Oh, it hurts!”  
The horse nudged her and neighed worriedly. Molly, now curled up on the grassy ground, dragged her phone out of her pocket and dialed.  
Twenty minutes later, she was sitting in a starch hospital bed and talking to a doctor.  
“You must rest, Molly. I won't confine you to bed rest because it's early days and this happens quite often in a pregnancy when a mother overworks herself.” The doctor paused awkwardly. “Is there someone around who can help out?”  
“No, the father's gone... away for a while.”  
She tried to put it as delicately as possible, but she saw the look of sympathy that flashed across the doctor's face. She ignored it. “We keep this between us, is that understood?”  
“Patient confidentiality is never breached, Molly,”  
How little he knew.  
“I want you to erase the records once I've left your care,”  
“Very well, you're within your rights to ask that of us. Now, you haven't been to hospital for your pregnancy previously but you're about 7 weeks pregnant by my estimations, but would you like a proper ultrasound? You can see the fetus and we can see how far along you are and you can hear the heartbeat,” his hand was already hovering to page a midwife and he seemed startled by her response.  
“No.”  
“But - ”  
“I said no!” Molly snatched her phone from the bedside table and ran out, not stopping until she got out of the doors. Her stomach rolled slightly and she rested her hand on it to calm the baby, getting her some concerned looks from passerbys.  
Running wasn't a good idea. She was always tired and she was woken up multiple times every night with the need to wee.  
Running wasn't a good idea when she was pregnant, whether she liked it or not.


	23. Chapter 23

The next day, Molly finally came to terms with the pregnancy, even though she was still scared. Her sister-in-law had helped when Molly rang her late one night, crying with a bout of hormones. Despite her devout ways usually being really annoying to Molly, she told Molly the baby was a blessing. 

So the following week, Molly went back to the hospital with a sheepish smile and an apology to the doctor (who seemed more amused than annoyed at her quick reactions). She lay on the bed and a midwife slathered cold gel over her stomach. She appreciated that the midwife made small talk that wasn't anything to do with the dad. She learnt that the previous doctor had been right last week and she was now 8 weeks gone.  
“There we go! That's your baby!” after moving the scanner around a bit, she smiled and turned the screen to Molly, pointing out all the different bits. Molly welled up and tried to blink the tears away, but let them fall openly when the midwife turned the sound on and a faint heartbeat filled the room.  
“Now, would you like a picture to take home?”  
Molly found herself eagerly saying yes and tucking the photos in her bra for safekeeping, close to her heart. 

She practically skipped out the hospital and, once she was home, pulled her shirt tight around her midriff, gently stroking the little expanse of belly that hadn't been there a few days ago. She retrieved the photos and smiled lovingly at the thought of showing them to Mycroft soon. 

At 9 weeks, she realised her lab coat was getting too tight and she needed to confess to her boss. Usually at work, he complained about how much trouble his kids caused him, so Molly was expecting some crude comments.  
KNOCK KNOCK  
“Come in!”  
“Hi Adam, could I have a word?” Molly stuck her head around the door.  
“Of course!” Adam Wade had taken a liking to Molly and he was a cheery guy, even though he complained a lot.  
“I just wanted to let you know that I won't be doing much overtime from now on and at some point we'll need to discuss maternity leave,” Molly's fingers were crossed behind her back. She'd been having such a good day (she had slept for 11 hours straight) and she didn't want it ruined by her boss frightening her.  
Instead, he said “Oh Molly, you're pregnant?! Wow, congratulations!”  
This startled Molly and she grabbed the chair. Adam misread her actions slightly, seeming to think she wanted a conversation.  
Molly left his office half an hour later and to her surprise, she felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

At 10 weeks, she started looking in all the baby sections of her favourite websites. She felt too shy to go to any stores yet.

At 11 weeks, she felt a fluttering sensation in her stomach. She rolled up her shirt and pressed a hand to her naval worridedy and felt a slight pressure against her palm.  
It took her a moment, but she had enough medical training to recognise what a baby kicking felt like. She laughed and went to pull the shirt back down. It used to be flowy and long, but now it felt tight and confining and cropped. With a tug at the shirt and the ghost of a kick, she promised herself to go shopping next time she was paid.

At 12 weeks, she tidied herself up and set out for a day of shopping. Before she knew she was pregnant, she would weave in and out of each aisle, run between shops and load herself down with clothes. Now, she walked at a leisurely pace.  
Until she reached the first Mothercare store and got excited.  
There were walls lined with cots and wardrobes. Each shelf held baby monitors and thermometers and teddy bears. There were racks of patterned bedclothes and tiny sleepsuits. At the back, there was aisle after aisle of maternity clothes. Molly's sister-in-law and mother had told her they were hideous, but Molly found them quite sweet. There were swimsuits with tummy padding, floral dresses, pastel jumpers, stretchy jeans. There were displays with pushchairs and car seats and tiny baths.  
Molly was giggling at the idea of Mycroft struggling to install a car seat into his Bentley when a sales assistant glided up.  
“Hello madam,”  
Molly jumped slightly.  
“Sorry, didn't see you there!”  
“Congratulations,” the assistant gestured at her blossoming bump. “Do you have anyone here with you or do you need some help?”  
“I'm alone but it's okay, thanks anyway!”  
“Oh, I'm sorry,” the assistant blushed and looked away, embarrassed.  
Molly was confused “Why are you sorry?”  
“I didn't realise you were a single mum,”  
“Oh, I'm not! My partner's just with work right now,”  
“Ah, I get you. I had to raise mine pretty single handed cause my husband was pretty devoted to work,”  
Molly fell silent and the assistant hovered awkwardly for a few more seconds before hurrying off to another customer.  
Mycroft didn't even know about the baby yet.  
Even Mrs Ainsworth had admitted he would be shocked. Molly knew it took a lot to shock him.  
She had just assumed he would be happy with the news.  
She had just assumed he would be pleased.  
She had just assumed he would stay.


	24. Chapter 24

Molly had taken some unbranded bags to carry her stuff home in and called Albert to give her a lift so she didn't strain herself. By the time the Bentley pulled up, she was far away from the store and she was wearing a bulky coat that hid any signs of a small bump, so he didn't suspect anything.  
He commented briefly on her use of a coat in such warm weather and she took the opportunity to make up an excuse about having the flu and having a shopping spree when she went to get some medicine from Boots. He just nodded, looking rather overwhelmed by her babbling and she shrunk into the seat.

He dropped her right by the door and offered to take the bags in for her, but she hastily declined and sent him away again. She had hidden her pregnancy from Albert so he didn't say anything to Mycroft. With worries about Mycroft still dwelling in her mind, she stumbled up the stairs with all the bags and dumped them in the hallway before yanking the attic ladder down.  
It was risky for a pregnant woman, but Molly simply couldn't bear the idea of Mycroft coming home early and finding what was basically a nursery. 

Mycroft had pointed the attic out to her when he gave her the tour of the house (so many months ago) but he'd said it was full of dusty junk and, despite her curiosity, she wasn't good with ladders so she never ventured up.  
Now, it was a good hiding place so she went slowly.  
Despite Mycroft's description, it was quite nice. It was large (as Molly expected in comparison to the rest of the house) and well lit. There were a lot of white sheets that intrigued Molly. She peeled each one back and sighed dramatically. There was a faded armchair that was leaking stuffing, a chest with a lock missing, a television with a broken wire, a rolled up rug, a lamp with a broken shade. It all seemed to fit together like a puzzle that Molly couldn't see, so she brushed it off again.  
She crossed to the other side of the attic and flung back the other sheets, looking for space for all her baby clothes. And then she froze.  
There was a cream colored cot with engravings on the headboard.  
She ripped back all the other sheets.  
There was a chest of drawers with a changing unit strapped on top of it. Each drawer handle was a different colour, but the paint was peeling.  
There was a white set of shelves.  
There was a wardrobe that was smaller than her that she hesitantly opened.  
She gasped. There was sleepsuits and dungarees and tshirts and jackets and bibs and quilts.  
She felt a wave of guilt and slammed the doors shut again. Mycroft hadn't told her about this so she shouldn't intrude. She stuffed some of the bags in the cot and replaced the sheet.

The biggest problem came was when she went to leave and looked down the ladder. She had always appreciated the high ceilings in the rest of the house, but it meant the ladder was longer.


	25. Chapter 25

Molly woke up at 6am and instinctively clapped a hand to her mouth. To her relief, the wave of nausea didn't rise up. It was a few days since the attic incident and today was her 3 month mark. Her midwife had told her that the morning sickness might get worse before fading at the four month mark. She was about to lie down again (by herself in the king sized bed that made her feel very lonely) when she heard the noise that had woken her up in the first place.  
The creak of a step.  
The creak of a step that Molly knew very well. The creak of the top step on the staircase. 

The sheet was tangled at her feet – she was always hot with this pregnancy – and she grabbed it, dragging it over her bump. She reached for the bedside table, unplugging the lamp and wielding it in case the intruder came into her bedroom. 

The door opened slowly and a tall, skinny shadow stood in her doorway. The figure sighed and stretched his neck from side to side, making his way towards the bed.   
Until Molly launched the lamp at him.  
“What the hell?!”  
The figure jumped to one side, narrowly avoiding the lamp.  
“Mycroft?”  
“Who else would it be?”  
“Oh my god! Mycroft!”  
His features softened when his eyes adjusted to the dark and saw her lower lip wobbling. “Don't cry.”  
He crawled over and sat beside her on the bed. Molly expected him to sweep her up in his arms, but he just started to loosen his shoelaces. She grabbed at his arm.  
“Mycroft, I've got so much to tell you!”  
“Maybe later, my dear.”  
His words stung. He had only just got back and he didn't seem at all interested. His voice sounded wrong, his clothes felt wrong. She pulled at the light cord on the side of the bed and it flickered on.   
He grimaced at her gasp.  
“Mycroft, what happened?!”  
“I've been gone 2 months, it wasn't a holiday, Molly,”  
“I know that, but you look... terrible!”  
“Thank you.”  
“Don't you take that tone with me! We need to clean you up!”  
His face was scratched and muddy. One hand was covered in slight scars. His hair was longer and darkened with mud. He was paler, thinner. He looked gaunt and his eyes were sunken. His lovely suit was replaced with a filthy shirt, torn khaki trousers and a scratchy wool jacket that reached his knees.   
“No, Molly. I don't have time.”  
“Don't tell me you're still annoyed at what I said before you left!”  
“Don't be so small minded. There's work to do for the world.”  
“Don't lie to me, I know you wouldn't step foot outside this house in this state.”  
“Not London, no. Serbia.” His voice cracked slightly on the last word and he stood, crossing the room quickly and shutting the door behind him.   
Molly hauled herself out the bed, one hand on her bump. She had been so excited (and nervous) to tell him about the baby, but now really wasn't the time while he was angry and upset. In his tired and injured state, she knew his deduction skills wouldn't be great, so she just shrugged on his dressing gown (that was too big for her anyway) and tied it loosely around her waist, its bagginess disguising any weight gain. 

He was standing at the bathroom mirror, dabbing a cotton ball across a cut along his neck that Molly hadn't noticed before. It looked red and streaky and Molly immediately knew it was infected. The 'doctor' side of her kicked in and she crossed the bathroom, gently taking the antiseptic from him and wiping it along the cut.   
“Thank you,”  
She ignored him for a moment as she rinsed the antiseptic off her hands and tried not to gag at the smell.   
“So, Serbia?”  
“Sherlock.”  
Molly knew that he was alive, of course she did. She had helped him run. But it had almost slipped her mind that he was still out there in the world, battling Moriarty's web.  
“How long?”  
“Less than Mexico, I promise. But it's more dangerous.”  
“When?”  
“Soon. I came home to recover and to see you. I said two months at least, and I tried be as quick as possible.”  
“I missed you.”  
“I missed you too.”


	26. Chapter 26

“Mycroft?” Molly had gone back to bed after their talk in the bathroom, but Mycroft had insisted he wasn't tired.   
She sighed, getting up and going downstairs, expecting to find him in the office. Instead, there was a note pinned to the door.

Molly,  
My wounds are treated so I'm at work. There's a threat to Parliament and getting Sherlock back is going to take more care than I originally believed.  
Mycroft.

She groaned, resting her head against the wooden door. Then inspiration struck.  
She scrambled for her phone and went to the first number on her speed dial.  
After just one ring, a comfortingly familiar voice answered.  
“Molly?”  
“Anthea,”  
“Is everything okay?”  
“Can you come over?”  
“Of course,”  
“Don't tell Mycroft,”  
“Okay, give me five minutes,”

In the time that Mycroft had been in Mexico, Molly had grown even closer to Anthea, but she still hadn't mentioned the pregnancy. 

True to her word, five minutes later, Anthea walked in. It always amused Molly that Anthea didn't even ring the doorbell and she wondered whether she just walked into Mycroft's office in the same way. 

Molly called her name from the living room and Anthea strolled in with her usual demeanour of elegance.  
And then she nearly fell over.  
Molly was holding a sonogram and standing in a tight dress that accentuated the baby bump.  
“Molly?!”  
“I'm pregnant.”  
“Congratulations!” her friend squealed, launching herself at Molly and dragging her into a hug.  
Once Molly finally took back the sonogram and unpeeled Anthea's hands from her belly, she sat her down on the sofa.  
“Mycroft doesn't know. You can't say anything,”  
“You haven't told him?”  
“How could I? He didn't let me contact him when he was in Mexico and he's only been back a day. He's being pretty cold and distant.”  
“He won't be when he finds out about the baby,”  
“We don't know that. I don't even know whether he'll be pleased. Whether he'll stick around,”  
“Of course he will!”  
Molly was quiet for a minute.  
“You're really worried about this, aren't you?” Anthea took one of Molly's hands between both of hers.  
“Yeah,”  
“Let me talk to him?” Molly opened her mouth to protest, but Anthea continued. “I won't mention the baby, he won't suspect a thing. Just let me tell him he needs to be nicer to you?”  
“Okay.”


	27. Chapter 27

“Sir?”  
“Come in, Anthea.”  
Molly had been wrong. Anthea would never dare walk into Mycroft's office without permission. She always waited for permission before even opening the door.   
“You've been out.” Mycroft spoke before she could even open her mouth.  
“Yes.”  
“Is everything okay?”  
“Yes. It was just a visit to a friend.”  
“Molly?”  
“No.”  
Anthea had a very cool demeanour, but she was inwardly trembling. It was a risky game to lie to Mycroft Holmes, since he could track her every move. Instead, he just nodded vaguely and looked back down at the stack of papers on his desk.   
“But talking of Molly -”  
That got his attention. His head snapped up and his eyes were fixed on her, like a predator. “Yes?”  
“I feel like she wants more attention from you.”  
He steepled his fingers under his chin and didn't break his gaze. Anthea feared she had gone too far until he spoke. “Are you speaking as my assistant and surveillance officer, or as Molly's friend?”  
“Molly's friend.”  
“Very well. I shall explain myself to you. I love Molly and I try to spend as much time as I can with her, but I have a very pressing job and I am preoccupied with work, especially at the moment. It's difficult to give her more attention. I tried when we first began courting, but she eventually became fed up of gifts.”  
“Molly doesn't like that sort of thing. Remember all the roses you used to send her? She loved that, cause she knew that you knew that she loved them. She likes things that come from the heart. Do some big gesture for her, then go back to work.”  
Anthea didn't wait for Mycroft to reply. Instead, she just left the office. She kept an eye on the camera that was in her office and when she was sure it hadn't moved or blinked, she sighed in relief and got out her phone, sending Molly a quick text.


	28. Chapter 28

In his office, Mycroft was wondering what he could do for Molly. He hadn't hesitated in silently agreeing with Anthea and he knew he had been somewhat neglecting Molly.   
He wasn't good with emotions and he knew that a big gesture (in his eyes) might either offend someone else, or not even be noticeable. Sherlock, despite his protests, was a very emotional man and he knew Molly well enough to suggest ideas. But Mycroft couldn't bear to endanger his brother any more. 

He flipped open his phone and did a quick incognito Google search for “romantic gestures.”   
It came up with over 100 million results and Mycroft was not a patient man, so he opened the top page.

It suggested buying her something expensive. But that didn't seem very significant since Molly knew how much money he had and Anthea had said she would want something from the heart.

It suggested taking her out for a candlelit meal in her favourite place. It was from the heart, but it would be over quickly and, to be honest, Mycroft did that quite a lot. They had dined on top of the Eiffel Tower, picnicked in Hyde Park, drunk champagne on the London Eye. 

It suggested taking her on holiday. They had a lot of day trips to Paris, Barcelona, Venice, Rome, Budapest. Mycroft couldn't go away for more than a few days without suitable authorisation. 

And it suggested something else. Something Mycroft had never considered.  
It warned the reader that it should be done at the right time, not too soon in a relationship. Mycroft did a quick calculation in his head and realised they had in fact been together for 8 months. The amount they had been through together made them all the closer though. The grief of losing Sherlock in a way that nobody else understood. The fact that Molly was able to make him melt in a second.

He didn't notice he was still clutching his phone till it vibrated and he jumped, nearly dropping it. It was a text from Molly.

Your work hours are nearly done, please come home early. I need to talk to you. It's important.  
Molly x

He felt the blood drain from his face and he felt like his heart was breaking.   
He had watched enough romantic films with Molly, much to his distaste, to know what it meant when someone 'wanted to talk.'   
And it made sense that she wanted to end their relationship, he had been more or less neglecting her after all.   
With his phone and wallet clutched tightly in one hand, he sprinted out the office, waving at towards Anthea through her open office door and shouting his goodbye.  
Anthea just smiled discreetly at her phone screen.


	29. Chapter 29

“I need a ring.”  
“Of course, sir. What sort of ring are you looking for?”  
“Engagement,”  
“Ah, congratulations. We have a selection of engagement rings. Please come with me.” the assistant had a very calm voice that was annoying Mycroft.   
“I want 20 carats.”  
The assistant blanched slightly at that. “I'm afraid we don't stock that.”  
“Fine. What's the highest that you stock?”  
“12 carat.”  
“Let me see.”   
The assistant silently pointed at a lone ring in its own case, labelled as an antique. Mycroft peered in and grimaced. The gold ring was beautiful but the diamond was jagged and the sapphire gems were scruffy and he couldn't imagine it on Molly's finger.  
Instead, something else twinkled and caught his eye.  
“What's this one?”  
“It's a 7 carat diamond, round cut, gold ring, ruby gems.”  
“How much?”  
“£49800,”  
The assistant looked like he was going to faint from just reading the number, whilst Mycroft almost scoffed at how cheap it was.  
“I'll take it,”


	30. Chapter 30

Molly fluttered around the flat nervously.   
She had dithered for the last two months wondering how to tell Mycroft about the baby, but now she knew. He wouldn't appreciate anything like a sonogram photo on the fridge or a “daddy” mug or a baby onesie. She had changed out of the skintight dress and into a very baggy sweater so she could explain before he saw. Mycroft was straightforward enough for Molly to just say “we're pregnant,” without any hesitation or fear.  
So why did the adrenaline pump through her veins, chilling her to the core?  
The slight scratch of the front door broke Molly from her train of thought and made her jump. The drop of a pin in the next room could have startled her at that moment.  
“Mycroft?” she hurried out of her bedroom and shut the door behind her. He might prefer the announcement to be straightforward, but she was hoping he would want to see the sonogram photos, so she had put them all over her bed.

She nearly fell over.

He was on one knee, looking rather shaky and clutching a black velvet box so tightly that she could see his knuckles turning white. She felt almost as shaky as he looked, her heart was pounding fast in her ears and her stomach was rolling.   
Before she could ask what the hell he was doing, he spoke.  
“Would you consider – no, wait – will you m-”  
“Stop.”  
“My dearest Molly, please don't ask me that. Nothing on this earth could make me stop. Will you marry me?”  
“Mycroft” a tear silently slid down her cheek. “Oh god, I'm sorry!”  
The last thing Molly saw was Mycroft's face's falling.   
Her vision vapidly blackened and she collapsed, a piece of ribbon falling to the floor.


	31. Chapter 31

“Would you consider – no, wait – will you m-”  
“Stop.”  
“My dearest Molly, please don't ask me that. Nothing on this earth could make me stop. Will you marry me?”  
Her heartbeat thudded so loudly and so fast that her head hurt and the room started to spin. Something felt like it was lodged in her throat and she drew in a jagged breath.  
“Mycroft” a tear silently slid down her cheek as the pain got worse.   
Suddenly, she felt a stabbing pain in her stomach and gush of something warm and sticky on her leg. “Oh god, I'm sorry!”  
The last thing Molly saw was Mycroft's face's falling.   
Her vision vapidly blackened and she collapsed, a piece of ribbon falling to the floor.

When she woke, the familiar wooden ceilings and soft carpets were gone, there was no sandalwood smell. It was replaced by sharp white walls and a clinical smell. She was covered in 1 thin white sheet and she was wearing a blue hospital gown. A drip was attached to her arm, leading over to a canister of opaque liquid that Molly pulled a face at.

Everything flooded back at once.  
Her plan to tell Mycroft about the baby.  
Her stress.  
Mycroft's proposal.  
Her baby.  
Molly's hand flew to her stomach and she hit at the call button furiously, shouting for the nurse.

Two people flew in, a nurse and Anthea.   
Anthea breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Molly awake and collapsed in a chair with a cup of bitter coffee. She wasn't wearing any make up, her skirt suit was crumpled and she had bags under her eyes. Her appearance made Molly wonder how long she had been out.  
“My baby,” she addressed the nurse. Her health could wait.  
“How are you feeling Molly?” asked the nurse, pressing a hand to Molly's forehead.  
Molly removed the hand and looked down at her belly. “Tell me what happened to my baby,”  
“Nothing, the baby is fine,”  
“Don't lie to me,”  
The nurse was old enough to give Molly a stern enough look to make her recoil a bit.   
Anthea stood up. “She's not lying to you, Molly.”  
“But it hurt. And I felt ill. And I was bleeding.”  
“It's more common than people realise. By the end of the third month, the baby is fully formed and blood flow to the uterus increases. That's why you bled. The blood was diverted so that explains why you felt dizzy and passed out. You're still suffering morning sickness so that's why you felt sick. Now, I know it's a lot to process and you seem to be doing okay at the moment, so I'll leave you to talk with your friend. Just don't get out this bed.”

“How long was I out for?”  
“About a day and a half.”  
“Why so long?”  
“They gave you a very mild sedative because your blood pressure was high, in case there was something wrong.”  
“I'm sorry,”  
“It's not your fault, so shut up and ask me what you really want to know,”  
“What?”  
“I can see it in your eyes Molly,”  
“Fine. Where's Mycroft?”  
Anthea broke eye contact then and started twiddling her thumbs. She clearly hadn't expected that.  
“Anthea?”  
“He's gone.” she said it so quietly that Molly wouldn't have heard unless she strained.  
“Where?”  
“Serbia, I thought he told you,”  
“I knew he was going soon, I didn't know he was going tonight!”  
“I think he wanted to delay it and spend time with you, but he freaked. He told me the relationship was over and - ”  
“He told you what?!”  
“That you ended the relationship. Apparently you had something to say and it was bad and you were sorry,”  
“Yeah, I had something to tell him, but it wasn't anything bad!”  
“What was it?”  
“What do you think?”  
It dawned on Anthea and her gaze flickered to the heart monitor that was tracking Molly's heartbeat and a second, slower, quieter one. 

Molly felt the baby kick slightly as she snapped at Anthea and she laid a hand against her stomach.  
“Does he know?”  
“About your position in hospital? Yes. About the baby? No.”  
“So we're by ourselves?”  
“You've got me,”  
“And me,”  
Anthea spun around and Molly's head jolted up. Greg Lestrade was leaning against the doorway and picking at a fingernail, the tips of his ears red.  
“Greg! How did you know?”  
“I didn't till just now. But it's pretty obvious Mols, you're big.”  
Anthea threw a bar of soap from Molly's nightstand at him.  
“So it's another Holmes?”  
“Yeah.”  
“I thought it was always the other brother, Mols?”  
“What can I say? Something changed,”


	32. Chapter 32

A month later, Molly finished her shift and went to get her things out her locker for the last time. She was taking leave now and she had warned her boss that she didn't know whether she'd be back after her year of maternity leave.   
She opened her small red locker to retrieve the few bits that she kept at work and dropped the key when she saw who was standing in the reflection.  
“Sherlock?!”  
He just smiled.  
“Oh my god, I missed you!” She flung herself at him, tightly enveloping him until he grunted slightly in pain. “What's wrong?”  
“I picked up some injuries in the past two years, Molly. Moriarty's men are not kind people.”  
“Come with me, we'll have a look,”  
“Hang on. A lot has clearly changed in your life.” he gestured down to her belly and she rested a gentle hand on the bump.  
“Yeah, you're definitely right there! Now, we can talk about this while I clean you up.”

She buttoned her lab coat up again and sat Sherlock down on the stool in her office.  
“Last time I was in here with you, it was when you had begun a relationship with my brother.”  
“I suppose so.” her voice was clipped so he didn't hear her hurt from his mention of Mycroft.  
“And now you're carrying his child.”  
Molly nearly dropped the first aid box. “What?!”  
“Why didn't you say that it was my niece or nephew in there?”  
“How do you – oh, never mind, of course you know. You're Sherlock Holmes.”  
“I thought Mycroft seemed softer when we were talking earlier.”  
“Why would he? He doesn't know.”  
Sherlock turned round on the stool, pushing away Molly's hand. “He left you?”  
“No.”  
“You haven't told him?”  
“Don't say it like that, I did try!”  
Sherlock raised one eyebrow.  
“I did! But I collapsed and he ran!”  
“Very well. From this account, my brother is clearly in the wrong. But that does not mean he shouldn't know about his child.”  
“Fine. I'll let him know next time I see him.”  
“Next time you see him? So he has left?”  
“Well he hasn't bothered to come home.”  
“He's staying in his flat in Kensington.”  
“Then he can find me. And you're not to breathe a word about the baby.”  
“Can I say anything about you?”  
“Hmph.”


	33. Chapter 33

“Anthea, can you come over?”  
“To the house?”  
“No, to my flat. You remember where to go?”  
“Of course.”   
And Anthea hung up the phone.   
Molly had begun moving back into her flat the night that Sherlock returned. 

The game buzzed and Sherlock sat back against his chair.  
“Oh bugger!” cursed Mycroft.  
“Can't handle a broken heart. How very telling.”  
“Oh, do be quiet, brother mine.”  
“So, Molly broke your heart?”  
“I don't have a heart.”  
“You didn't use to, but you certainly possess one now. I knew you'd find yourself a 'goldfish.'”  
“Change the subject. Now.”  
Mycroft's phone buzzed and he checked it to see that Anthea had messaged him, saying she would be late to work because a friend needed her.   
“I'll be slower without Anthea today so I should be off,” Mycroft stood.  
“Where's Anthea?   
“A friend of hers is in need.”  
“She's gone to see Molly.”  
“What makes you say that?” his voice softened at the mention of Molly.  
“She wouldn't divert plans for anyone else. So, you're stuck without Molly and Anthea today?” a telltale note rang through Sherlock's voice and Mycroft interrupted before he could continue.  
“I'm not lonely, Sherlock.”

“Thank you so much for coming! I didn't take you from anything did I?”  
“No, course not! It was my day off,” Anthea enveloped her friend in a hug so she couldn't see the lie in her eyes, mindful of the baby.   
“I really needed some company, I'm struggling with what to do.”  
“What's up?”  
“So you know I tried to tell Mycroft about the baby and he proposed before he went to Serbia?”  
Anthea nodded.  
“I'm sure you know that both brothers are back now.”  
Anthea just nodded again. “Sorry for not saying, it's been so busy,”  
“That's okay, I get it. Sherlock found out about Bean and - ”  
“Who's Bean?” Anthea interrupted.  
Molly blushed and gestured to her bump. “It's my nickname for the baby cause I don't wanna see the gender on the scan. Anyway, Sherlock found out and he wants me to tell Mycroft,”  
“What's the problem with that? I thought you wanted Mycroft to know?”  
“I can't find him.”  
Anthea frowned at that. “He might not be in his house, but he's still in London. You're one of the few people who knows where his bunker office is.”  
“I'm not just gonna drop by at his office, you know he'd be furious.”  
“His flat?”  
“He's nearly always out. I tried texting, but he doesn't reply. I tried ringing and it's just rung out. I know he's definitely got his phone on him cause I tried turning off my caller ID and he hung up when he heard it was me.”  
“What can I do?”  
“Tell him I want to see him before I lose my mind.”


	34. Chapter 34

Mycroft was sitting in the Diogenes Club – Sherlock had been right when he said that he couldn't cope on his own. He was struggling enough without Molly and there was no point even trying to work without Anthea.  
His favourite armchair was free and the room was nearly empty, so he sighed as loudly as he dared and poured himself a scotch.  
Almost as immediately as he had shut his eyes (he decided to take a nap after many sleepless nights), the door banged open and the familiar click of kitten heels made him drearily open one eye.  
“Anthea?” he mouthed.  
She gave him a hard stare and motioned her head to one of the private rooms.

“Care for a drink?” he asked once he was seated in a leather armchair in a private room.  
“Not during a work day, thank you, sir.”  
“It's not really a work day unless you turn up to work, Anthea.”  
“Like I said, a friend was in need. And I think you would be glad that I went to see her.”  
“Why would I take enjoyment from that?”  
“Because that friend was Molly.”  
“Miss Hooper?”  
“Yes. And you need to let her talk.”  
“Please don't intrude in my personal life, Anthea.”  
“I have been your assistant for 10 years. Our careers rely on being cold and emotionless, which won't work with a sad personal life.”  
“I am perfectly capable of not showing emotion, Anthea. For instance, I continued with my day to day life when I was assisting Sherlock with his “death” or his drug use.”  
“Yourself and Molly are both my friends. I don't like seeing either of you upset.”  
Mycroft stood, clutching his umbrella so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “You may be Molly's friend but you don't know every detail of her life. As for me, I am not your friend, Anthea. I am your boss. I don't have friends.”


	35. Chapter 35

“Is that your phone sir?”  
“No, Anthea. It is my stomach rumbling. I have been in a meeting that was delayed and then spun out for three hours.”  
“Do you want to stop somewhere to eat?”  
“We're on Marylebone Road, correct?”  
“Yes.”  
“There's a fish and chip shop near here that Sherlock recommended. I'll go there. Care to join me?”  
Anthea was somewhat surprised at the invitation. Since their frosty meeting at the Diogenes Club, he had been very blunt with her. She realised she hadn't answered when he coughed slightly. “I'm not hungry, thank you, sir.”  
It only took him a minute to get from Albert's parking spot to the chippy, but in that time he was drenched to the skin. Thunder clapped and the sky lit up outside, the rain hammering outside the window as he shed his coat and ordered.  
“Mycroft?” he heard a familiar voice from behind him and spun around.  
“Molly? What are you doing here?”   
She winced at the cold tone to his voice. “I had a craving for – I wanted chips. You?”  
“I was hungry and this was the closest place with a 5 star rating.”  
“Oh. Anyway, not really important. Look, Mycroft, we need to talk - ”  
“Molly, please, there's no need to make it official, you made it perfectly clear that you want to end the relationship. Please spare me from an embarrassing encounter.”   
“What?! No, you've got in completely wrong!” He had turned back to the counter and was studiously eyeing the menu, ignoring her. She reached over and grabbed his arm, letting go of her bulky coat in the moment.  
Quick as a flash, his head ducked down and stared at where her belly was now obvious. “Molly, you're..?”  
Before he could finish, she opened her coat and allowed him to see the blossoming bump.   
“You are with child. Who is the father?”   
“You are, you prat! This is what I've been trying to tell you!”  
He grabbed her by the arm and practically dragged her to a table where nobody else was within earshot. “Impossible. We haven't been together for quite a while now.”  
“It's a 9 month process,”  
“Still, impossible. We used condoms.”  
“And they're not 100% effective. Face up to it, Mycroft, you're gonna be a dad.”  
“I don't want to be a father.” Mycroft immediately realised the mistake in his words, but it was too late as Molly's eyes filled with tears and she ran out of the shop.   
He threw a bill on the counter and shouted an apology to the chef, running out into the rain after her. The water got in his eyes and he squinted into the dark, but she was gone.   
He strode back to the car and flung the door open again. Anthea calmly passed him the umbrella that he almost always had by his side.  
“Molly's pregnant.”   
Even in the dark, he could see Anthea turn pale and even Albert coughed, trying to cover it.  
“Did she tell you?” asked Anthea.  
“I saw her in the chip shop and her condition is fairly apparent. Did you know?”  
Anthea ducked her head, nodding slightly.  
Mycroft slammed the door shut, the anger coursing his veins heating him up in the freezing weather. He motioned for Albert to open the window.  
“You are to take Anthea home.”  
“But sir - ” protested Anthea.  
“Be quiet, Anthea. I don't think I'll be able to reign in my temper around you at this moment. I'll get myself home.”  
“Molly's my friend and she asked me not to say!”  
“You may be Molly's friend, but you are part of the government and you are my assistant. I needed to know as a matter of security. You failed in your duty. Albert, take her home, now!”  
The window raised again and the car slid away into the night.   
Mycroft ran a hand through his sodden hair and walked back through the night.


	36. Chapter 36

“Mrs A, is Molly there?” he had yanked out his phone and dialled the first number he thought of.  
“Molly? She moved out about a month ago, Mr Mycroft,”  
Instead of bothering to question her or thank her, Mycroft just hung up and hailed a nearby taxi. He thrust a fifty pound note at the cabbie and demanded that he broke every speed limit to get to Molly's flat.

“Molly?! Molly, I know you're in there! Let me in, we need to talk about this!” Mycroft peered through her letterbox. He could hear music and he could see the warm light of the kitchen. There was no sound of footsteps, so he stepped back and bashed on the door.  
“Molly, I'm not leaving until you come out!”  
“Leave her be!” a sharp rap on his shoulder made him turn around.  
“Who the hell are you?” he demanded. A lady of about 70 years old stood with a fierce expression and her walking cane aloft.  
“I'm Molly's neighbour.”  
“This has nothing to do with you.”  
“You're making a terrible racket and upsetting poor Molly. I'm trying to watch Corrie!”  
“Don't worry Doris, I'm okay. He's gonna shut up and go away so you can watch your show.” Mycroft had been too absorbed with arguing with the old lady to notice when Molly had opened her door and come out.   
Doris sniffed at Mycroft and disappeared back into her own flat, slamming the door and turning the volume of her television up.   
“You're not going to shut up or go away until I talk to you, are you?” asked Molly, addressing him but looking at her slippers.  
“No,”  
“You'd best come in then.”

“So you're pregnant?”  
“You're meant to be a genius, don't state the obvious!” Molly snapped angrily. Mycroft was leaning stiffly against a kitchen counter and Molly had moved away from him, in to a overstuffed armchair.   
“Sorry. And I'm sorry for what I said earlier. It sounded harsher than I intended, but I'm not going to pretend it's not true.”  
“So you're going to take the coward's way out?”  
“I'm not a coward, Molly. I'm not father material and the child will have plenty of male role models who are far more suitable than myself.”  
“You can't deny that it's your child too, Mycroft.”  
“I will, of course, provide any necessary money and protection.”  
“What?”  
“Well, I expect the child will be smart, with its mix of our genes. And seeing how many people try to attack or assassinate me on a weekly basis, it will need a higher level of security than most children.”  
“You're putting my child at risk and you're still abandoning it?”  
“I'm not abandoning it. Like I said, I'll make you and your baby comfortable.”  
“It's not just my baby! I'm not gonna be a single mother!”  
“Well you're not going to abort it, are you?!”  
“Get out! This isn't what I want!”  
“This isn't what I want either!”  
“Get out!” she was screaming now, rushing over to him as fast as she could with her extra weight and pushing him out the door. “We don't need you!”


	37. Chapter 37

Mycroft returned to his flat and buried his face in his hands. His usual evening composed of sending detailed emails to world leaders, but he was exhausted after his fight with Molly. Instead of his usual robotic actions, he undid his suit with quivering hands and slipped into comfy flannel pyjama bottoms rather than his posh silk pyjamas and crawled into bed.

When he woke up, his room that looked warmer in the light. As he went to stretch his lanky limbs, something small and red barrelled into the room and knocked him down on to the duvet again.  
“Daddy, daddy, wake up!” the small red thing was a girl of about three wearing a Christmas onesie.  
“Daddy, get up! Come see what Santa brought!”  
Mycroft, dazed, allowed himself to be dragged downstairs and into his sitting room. He realised he was in his house in Richmond, rather than his flat, but the sitting room looked very different. There were framed pictures of babies on the wall, the fire was roaring, there were toys scattered across the floor, the television was playing cartoons. And his apparent daughter sat in the middle of a rug, surrounded by wrapping paper.  
“Mummy said we had to wait for you to get up before eating breakfast!” crowed the little girl impatiently.  
“I did say that. Merry Christmas, darling.” And in walked Molly, in her own purple dressing gown, with a huge beam on her face and a very apparent baby bump. She ruffled their daughters hair and leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss Mycroft.

And just before their lips brushed, Mycroft woke up with a start.  
He sat up and fumbled for the light switch, sighing when he saw the familiar grey room. He found himself reaching for Molly on the other side of the bed, wishing for a child to run in and knock the breath out of him. It had all felt so real.

He clenched his phone so hard that his knuckles turned white as it rang out.  
“Molly? Molly, ring me back! I'm so sorry, my darling, I made a mistake. I never wanted children until I met you and now all I want is my family. Please, please, call me.”  
After 10 minutes of pacing the room, he collapsed back into bed, turning the pillow over since he had somewhat drenched it with tears.  
After 10 minutes of tossing and turning, he gave up and slid on his dressing gown and slippers, not bothering to get dressed properly before stepping out into the street.

Some drunk resident had forgotten to close the communal door when they came in that night, so Mycroft made his way up the stairs easily.  
And froze.  
Molly's front door was already open.  
He quietly stepped through the doorway, sliding his hand down the wall until he found the switch.  
And he had to hold on to the wall to stop his knees from buckling.  
The faded sofa and armchair were still in their rightful places, but there was no scatter cushions, no blankets. The windowsill was empty of vases and candles. One square of the floor was cleaner than the rest from where the rug had once been. The boxes of tea were gone from the kitchen, the fridge was practically empty, the bag of cat food had disappeared.   
He threw open the door to her bedroom, hoping he would find her curled up in bed. But the duvet was gone, the enormous stack of pillows was gone, the wardrobe was empty, the lipstick had disappeared from her dressing table.  
He sat down heavily on the empty mattress and, almost on cue, the light from the kitchen was blocked by a figure in the doorway.  
“Doris?” he tried to remember the old woman from yesterday.  
“It's Ms Kerry to you. It's 3am, what the hell are you doing here?”  
“Call the police, something's happened to Molly. She's been burgled and kidnapped!” he tried to leap past the woman to reach the phone, but stopped when she shook her head.  
“Don't be ridiculous, it was Molly's choice to leave. A bit spur of the moment, but who can blame her with you around?”  
“Where'd she go?”  
“You leave that girl alone. Now get out or I'll call the landlord and the police!”  
“Please. That's my baby too.”  
Ms Kerry's expression softened as his eyes began to shine with unshed tears. “Look, she left you a note in the kitchen. I really don't know where she went, I'm sorry. But look, you have to go, I won't call the police but we'll both be in trouble unless you go,” before she could continue, he had brushed past her and scrambled for the small piece of paper on the counter.

Mycroft,  
I've gone. I can't bear the idea of putting my child in danger. I can't bear the idea of my child being so close to their father without ever interacting. I can't let you break their heart too. When my baby is born, I'll send photos and updates to Mrs Hudson and John and Greg and Mike and your brother, but don't feel any compulsion to concern yourself with them. I know you can find out where I am, but please don't.  
Molly.

Mycroft sunk to the floor, the piece of paper crumpled in his hand. He didn't even notice Ms Kerry leave, his eyes were so blurred with a cascade of tears.


	38. Chapter 38

Sherlock buried his head in his hands after John stormed out. He did have friends, of course he did, but he was stressed and he hadn't been thinking. With a heavy heart, he stood up and left his seat by the fire.  
“Where's John?” he asked Gary, the barman.  
“John?” Gary was focused on polishing a glass.  
“The man I was with!”  
“Oh, he headed outside, in the direction of the hill,”  
Just as Sherlock reached the door, Gary called after him. “There's no point going out there now, mate. It's too dark, you'll never find him. Just wait here a bit. Want a drink?”  
Sherlock sighed and resigned himself to the bar.

Half an hour later, Sherlock was staring at the foamy dregs of his beer when a voice broke him out of his thoughts.  
“Sherlock?!”  
He nearly fell off the bar stool.  
“Molly?”  
“What are you doing here?”  
“I could ask you the same,”  
“I wanted a change,”  
“You fled from Mycroft, you mean.”  
“Oh, shut up. What are you doing here?”  
“There's a man called Henry who wanted our help with a so called hound. Is this your local pub?”  
“Yeah, I'm in one of the holiday cottages about half a mile away.”  
“0.42 of a mile.”  
“You haven't changed a bit!” she laughed good naturedly. “Hey Gary, just a lemonade.”  
“You shouldn't be in a pub in your condition, Molly.” scolded Sherlock gently.  
“I'm lonely and the guys here are really good to me,”  
“Then come home! You don't even have to talk to Mycroft, just let him know you're back.”  
“I can't Sherlock. He hurt me. It hurts me to just look at you, cause you remind me of everything I left behind.”

Henry's therapist suddenly entered and Sherlock's gaze skittered from Molly, locking on to her. By the time he had texted John, Molly had gone.

Sherlock and John caught the train back to London, a four hour ride in which Sherlock had to put up with John grumbling about the sugar.   
“You go to Baker Street with the bags, I need to see my brother,”  
“Was he involved with the hound?”  
“Well, he'll be wondering about the security pass I stole.”  
John simply huffed once more and walked out of the train station in the direction of Baker Street.   
Sherlock went the other way, in the direction of Westminster where he knew Mycroft's 'secret' bunker office was located.  
“Anthea, let me in.”  
“There's no point, he's not there, Mr Holmes.”   
“Fine. I'll wait. I think he does this to aggravate me.”

“Sherlock? Has Moriarty got to you already?”  
“What are you talking about? Oh, never mind.”  
“Apparently not, then. Why are you here, brother mine?”  
“Molly.”  
Mycroft froze, one hand gripping his desk tightly. “Molly?” he croaked.  
“Yes. I know where she is.”  
“Good for you.”  
“You obviously want her back. Very few people can make you cry, brother mine.”  
“I may want to see Molly, but she made her intention to avoid me very clear.”  
“She's lonely, Mycroft. She's carrying your baby and she's all alone. And it's clearly distracting you, you didn't even notice when I stole your security pass.”  
“Fine, where is she currently?”  
“A place in Dartmouth called Grimpen Village. They have some quaint holiday cottages near the Cross Keys Inn. Don't argue, lets go.”  
“I'll join you at the train station.”  
“The station? Why can't we take your car?”  
“My car is too expensive for a long drive on rocky territory.”  
“You just don't want people to know where you're going.”

“I can't believe I'm doing this.”  
“Don't complain, John.”  
“I just came off this train! We could have stayed in Dartmouth and you could have rung Mycroft.”  
“I dislike talking to him over the phone.”  
“I still don't get why you and I have to go.”  
“Mycroft doesn't know where he is and, in all honesty, I don't want to leave him alone right now.”  
“That's sweet I suppose.” Sherlock huffed at the sentiment but John continued. “I don't get why I have to go.”  
“I'm not sitting on a train for four hours, alone with my brother.”  
“Don't worry, brother mine, it's not my idea of fun either. Hello Dr Watson.”

“We do deliveries you know sweetheart,” said the cashier, passing Molly's groceries through.  
“Just gives me something to do, get out of the house, you know?”  
“When I had my kids, I hated leaving the house!” laughed the cashier. “That'll be £32.11 please sweetheart.”  
Molly paid and heaved the bags in to her arms. Everyone was commenting on her pregnancy now, she was five months along and it was fairly obvious. She hadn't taken much time when leaving London and had left a lot of her clothes behind, so she had gone and bought some maternity clothes that really showed off the bump.  
She shifted one of the bags on to her hip so she could rummage in her pocket for the key. At five months, her ankles were swollen and her back was painful, so she was trying to get as much exercise as possible.   
To her surprise, the door was already open. Unlike in London, it didn't concern her too much since it was probably the owner of the cottage.   
It did surprise her when she saw the navy belstaff coat on her door and the familiar deerstalker hat on her kitchen counter.   
“Sherlock?” she called.  
“The other one.”  
“Mycroft?!”  
She dropped the bags with an almighty crash, milk pooling around her boots. Mycroft leapt back to stop anything from splashing him and everything seemed to go in slow motion as Molly went down too.


	39. Chapter 39

“John, it's Molly! Help her! Please, John, the baby!”  
“The baby?!” John came running in from the garden, Sherlock at his heels.  
“Yes, the baby! My baby!”   
John kneeled down and rolled her over gently, reeling back slightly at her obvious condition. He pressed his fingers against her neck.  
“Sherlock, call an ambulance!” he snapped, then turned back, looking up at Mycroft. “Right, the good news is she's breathing. The bad news is the pulse is way too fast.”  
“And the baby?”  
John laid a tentative hand on her stomach and Mycroft gritted his teeth, telling himself that the doctor was just doing his job.  
“I can't feel anything,”  
“Oh god!” Mycroft hadn't even realised that he was crying until John stood, laying a hand on his shoulder and silently passing him a handkerchief. Sherlock sounded distant as he shouted at the emergency services through the phone.

Only two minutes after Sherlock hung up, the ambulance siren pierced the air and the paramedics were soon sprinting in.  
“Help her, she's pregnant!” Sherlock ran alongside the paramedics as they brought in the stretcher. At his words, they exchanged pitying looks that made Mycroft's lungs close.   
“Are you the father? Or her husband?” they addressed Sherlock.  
“No, he is,” Sherlock pointed a shaky hand at his brother.   
“You're welcome to come to the hospital with her,”  
They took Molly outside and Mycroft stood in the doorway.   
“Mycroft, go,” whispered John.  
“I don't know whether I can. I can't lose them both.”  
Sherlock slipped an arm round Mycroft's shoulders, pressing him forwards gently. “You won't.”  
“Will you come with us?” asked Mycroft.  
“They won't let us in the ambulance but the hospital is within walking distance, we won't be long.”


	40. Chapter 40

“What have they said?” Sherlock ran in, panting from walking up the hill. Mycroft was pacing the waiting room and Molly was nowhere to be seen.  
“Her blood pressure hasn't gone down and she's still asleep. I found this,” Mycroft held up a leaflet and Sherlock took it, flicking through and paling. “A heart attack?”   
“It's a risk, yes.”  
John ran a hand through his hair, sitting down in one of the blue chairs heavily.   
“And the baby?”  
“The nurse said there will be less blood flow to the placenta and, um, the baby might come early,”  
“But she's still got four months to go! Could they survive that?”  
John glared at Sherlock and yanked at his coat so he'd sit down. “Shut up,” he hissed, but Mycroft still heard.  
“It's okay, Dr Watson. No, Sherlock, it's unlikely that the baby would live for long at all.”

Every time a nurse came into the waiting room, all three men would jump up.  
After six nurses had come in with no news for them and two hours had passed, John dozed off and Sherlock only looked somewhat hopeful, but Mycroft was still dragging himself out of the seat.   
It was when Sherlock had finally dozed off too that Mycroft had enough. He draped his suit jacket over his younger brother and went over to reception.  
“Is there any news on Molly Hooper?”  
“We'd let you know straight away, Mr Hooper.”  
“It's Mr Holmes, we're not married.”  
“Oh, the paramedics must have made a mistake. Sorry, who's her next of kin then?”  
“I'm not sure, why?”  
“The next of kin needs to be informed in the event of Miss Hooper's passing.”  
Mycroft couldn't say anything to that. He tried to walk back over to Sherlock, but his legs turned to jelly and he had to grip hold of the desk. At the receptionist's sympathetic look and offer of coffee, it all finally overwhelmed him and he broke down into sobs.   
The receptionist was proffering a box of tissues and asking whether she should ring anyone when he felt the weight and warmth of his jacket being wrapped around his shoulders and he smelt the unique sandalwood and smokiness of Sherlock.  
“I'm sorry, he'll be okay, he's just a bit overwhelmed.”  
“We see it a lot,” the nurse gave him a small smile and reached into her drawer for a pack of tissues.   
Mycroft ignored the woman and turned to Sherlock, mumbling into his shoulder. “She might die, Sherlock.”  
“She'll be okay, I swear to you.”  
“We don't even know what's wrong!”  
“There's a nurse coming now. Maybe he'll be able to tell us something.”  
And, true to Sherlock's word, the nurse went to the desk and the receptionist pointed at Sherlock.  
“Hi, could we talk in private?”   
Sherlock sat Mycroft down then followed the nurse into a small room off the side of the waiting area.

“So they couldn't get a hold of Molly's brother, since he's the next of kin with both parents gone now. Molly woke up and asked them to let me know of any updates. She'll be okay, she just had really high blood pressure so they've given her a large dose of labetalol.” Sherlock said with relief.  
Mycroft was speechless for a moment. Then, “she's okay? She can come home?”  
“Not quite yet. They took a blood test while she was asleep but I believe they want to check the baby and check her vitals before sending her home.”  
“Did they say she had to go home?”  
“They want me to take her back to London, yes.”  
“Thank god. Can we see her?”  
“They said one person at a time since she's still groggy. Do you want me to warn her or,” Sherlock trailed off as Mycroft strode away.


	41. Chapter 41

“Molly? Are you awake?”  
Molly, still groggy from the drip, sat bolt up right against her stack of cushions when she heard Mycroft.   
“Why not, I suppose you saved my life. And you can answer some questions.”  
“Like what?” he felt uncomfortable under her stare and his eyes shifted to the monitors that were recording two heart beats. One was still rapidly spiking and one was fairly small and normal.   
“Mine is the top one,” she answered his unspoken question and he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “And the bottom is the?”  
“The baby, yes. You can't even say it, can you?”  
“Is the baby okay?”  
“Not sure yet. They're gonna run some tests in a minute. I'm sorry Mycroft.”  
“Why are you apologising?” he nearly fell off the bed, genuinely confused.  
“I got angry at you about how you treated this baby but then I nearly killed it!” The heart monitor beeped louder.  
“It wasn't your fault.” Mycroft placed a hand over Molly's.  
“What's in this drip anyway?”  
“Sherlock said they used sodium nitroprusside, it's used in emergency situations.”  
“They can't put that in me! There's theories that it can poison the baby!”  
“It's just a theory, calm down. They wouldn't do anything that could kill or harm the baby.”  
“I'll hold you to that.”  
“You'd better,” he said jokingly, bumping her hip with his own. “They want you to go home, Molly.”  
“Now? I've only just woken up!”  
“That's not what I mean. They want you to go back to London.”  
“Oh, that's fair enough. I've tried so hard and it just doesn't feel homely down here.”  
“They seemed to assume we were living together. They said it was a good thing so you can relax more or in case there was another incident.”  
“Why did they assume that?”  
“Because I'm the father of your baby.”  
Molly's eyes welled up.  
“What's wrong? Does something hurt?” Mycroft leant over to push the call button but she grabbed his elbow.  
“Nah, it's okay. It's just you never said that before. Anyway, we don't live together, so what did they say?”  
“I was too worried to correct them at the time. But would it be such a bad idea?”  
“Yes it would be a bad idea! You don't want anything to do with this baby,”  
“Yes I do.”  
“What?”  
“I thought you got my voicemail. You make me want a family, Molly. I want this baby and I want you.”


	42. Chapter 42

“Is there anything else you need?” asked John.  
“Nah, I'm okay thanks, just pop that vase in the van,”  
“Where'd the van come from actually?”  
“Mycroft's chauffeur got someone to bring it down,”  
“Oh god, we forgot the most important thing! Toby!”  
Molly laughed. “He's with Ms Kerry, he would have hated the journey down here. Where's Mycroft and Sherlock anyway?”  
John suddenly seemed very fascinated in his shoes and mumbled something so quietly that Molly had to ask him to repeat it.  
“I said, they're at the station,”  
“But there's room in the van?”  
“Yeah, Sherlock's coming back. Mycroft didn't want to come in the van, though.”

Molly was queasy and annoyed and hot and bothered when she finally got to her flat block. They'd got stuck in nearly two hours of traffic and then Sherlock had got into an argument with a man at the gas station. John had paid the removal men to unpack and Molly had gone back to 221B Baker Street so she didn't get in the way. Greg came running over to fuss over her, Mrs Hudson made her endless cups of tea, Sherlock clattered and swore in the kitchen, John sighed at his computer. She told herself that she was grateful and she missed her friends, but all she wanted at that moment was some peace and quiet.  
That's why it was such a relief to get home. The first place that felt loved and homely in over a month. She made herself a cup of liquorice tea, a new craving of hers.   
So when someone dropped and broke something that sounded like a mug in the communal doorway, she patiently opened the door, ready to offer help.  
And abruptly dropped her tea.  
Mycroft was struggling with the door of the flat next door that had been available for a long time. Molly had seen many people come and shake their head as they left, apologising and saying it was too small. Mycroft was trying to stop any more things from falling out of his cardboard box, oblivious to Molly leaning on her doorway until Molly stretched out a hand and opened the door.  
“Mycroft, what are you doing?” she asked once he had shifted the box.  
“Hello Molly.”  
“Mycroft, what are you doing?”  
“Moving into this flat,” he gestured with his free hand.  
“And why?”  
“You said there was nobody living with you. This is the best I can do.”  
“Mycroft, you're so desperate to look after me you moved?”  
“Yes,”  
“You could have just said! I would have let you stay in my spare room!”  
“I don't think I can cope with that, Molly. I'm still upset.”  
“You're upset? Why?”  
“You left me. You were willing to stay in Dartmouth and have our baby and never ever tell me. Our child would have grown up without the opportunity to know their father.”  
“But I thought we were okay now? You were so sweet in the hospital?”  
“I was in shock. I thought I was going to lose you and I was just so relieved that you were okay. I want to be involved and I want to look after you but I can't see you every second of every day.”  
Molly's eyes started stinging and, despite her rapid blinking, tears began to fall. “I don't know why I'm crying,” she tried to laugh.  
“I do. We were amazing, once upon a time. Just look at the proof.” he rested his hand on her belly and she gasped quietly. He had never touched the baby before and, when he did, the baby kicked.   
“Is that her?” he asked.  
“Her?”  
“It's just a feeling.” he knelt down so he was level with her stomach, not seeming to care about his expensive suit trousers. “You're a daddy's girl, aren't you?”  
“Do you wanna come in, Mycroft?”  
“Not right now, thank you. I have to unpack,” he said, surprising Molly and going into his new flat.  
Doris poked her head out of her flat.  
“Nice to see you back, Molly. Is that two new neighbours?”  
“Thanks, Doris. Yeah, it is, but you're not gonna like it,”  
“Come on in, we'll have a catch up. Toby's missed you too. Wait, why is there tea on the floor?”


	43. Chapter 43

Molly finally left Doris' flat after a further three cups of tea and talk about Dartmouth and updates on Toby.   
She squeezed the cat, who purred and nuzzled against her lovingly.   
“Awh, darling, I missed you! Now, lets see what the doctor said, eh?”  
She picked up the note and scanned it. Her doctor had prescribed her labetalol and told her to go for regular jogs to strengthen her heart and improve blood flow.  
“Well, I guess I should go buy some new running shorts” she sighed, tickling Toby.

Molly had an early dinner and an early night and slept for 12 hours, glad to be back in her own bed. She would have slept longer, but a loud knocking woke her up.  
“Mmm?” she groaned, opening her door.  
Mycroft stood in a tweed blazer and fitted khaki jeans and a satin white shirt. Molly knew him well enough to know that was his casual wear.  
“There was a parcel delivered for you,” he held it out, looking intently at the ceiling. Molly wondered why he was avoiding looking at her, until she realised she was in the only pyjamas that still fitted her, a burgundy lace nightie that had once reached her knees, but was now stretched over her expanding chest and stomach, making it look more like lingerie.  
“Oh god, sorry!” she hid behind her door, snatching the parcel.  
“That's quite alright,” he chuckled awkwardly, shedding his blazer and passing it to her too.  
“I should really get dressed,” she stammered, shrugging on the blazer and smiling gratefully.  
“Yes, sorry, go ahead.”  
Molly shut the door, but not before noticing the bulge in his jeans. At the old sight, she felt a jolt of arousal shoot south and she took a deep breath from the blazer that she was still wearing.   
So, she thought to herself, the horniness hormones of pregnancy had begun.


	44. Chapter 44

Molly tried to distract herself with online shopping, but she couldn't help herself from waiting until she heard Mycroft's front door from opening before stepping out in her new running gear. The sports bra she wore was grey and white and her cleavage peeked out the top enticingly. The matching leggings were long enough to cover the bump and they had padding to cradle it. Before leaving, Molly glanced appreciatively in the mirror at her bum.  
The first time Mycroft saw her in the outfit, he nearly fell over and had to tug his coat closed over his front.  
“Molly, what's the gear for?”  
“The doctor said to take up running, it can't all be sun dresses. Do you like it?” she did a little pirouette for him, smirking when her back was turned.  
He squeaked out a “yes” and swallowed heavily as Molly sauntered out, smiling sweetly over her shoulder. 

Mycroft wandered down the road, twirling the umbrella around in his hand. It was a gorgeous day and he was heading to St James Park, one of his favourite spots in London. He walked past the playground full of children and smiled ever so slightly as he heard one little girl squeal for her daddy to watch. He reached his favourite bench with his grandfather's plaque and opened up his book. But, before he could start reading, something caught his eye. There was a figure leaning against a tree, panting heavily. He took off his reading glasses, standing slowly and squinting.   
It was Molly.  
She was leaning against a big oak tree, panting heavily. She shakily sat down against the tree, trying to undo her water bottle. At the exasperated look on her face, Mycroft left his book and umbrella on the bench and jogged over to her.  
“Molly, what's wrong?”  
“Oh, hi Mycroft,” she said quietly.   
“Molly, you don't look great, really, what's wrong?”  
“I don't know, I just got really tired suddenly,”  
“Right, that can't be good. And it can't be good to be sitting in that dust,” he gestured to the ground she was sitting on.  
“I don't think I can stand right now. Give me a minute, I'll be okay, I probably just overdid it.”  
“Don't be ridiculous, I'm not leaving you in this state.” he knelt down beside her, scooping her up into his arms and carrying her back to the bench.   
She squeaked and wrapped her arms around his neck. He winced at how cold she felt, but he smiled when he felt the bulge of her stomach press into him and the strain on his arms of carrying his child.   
They reached the bench and he shed his tweed jacket, wrapping it around her, before sitting down too.  
“What happened, Molly?”  
“The doctor said that regular exercise would help my blood pressure problems,”  
“And you felt unwell?”  
“Yeah,”  
“I'm not allowing you to endanger the baby or yourself like that again, Molly.”  
“You can't be my guardian angel, Mycroft.”  
“I can run with you. I used to run regularly as part of my diet, it would do me good to start again.”  
“Won't it be awkward?”  
“Is this awkward?”  
“No,”  
“It won't be any different then. We shan't let it.”

“It will be awkward” Molly thought silently to herself. When Mycroft had picked her up, she had barely held back a moan and she wrapped her arms around his neck to restrain herself from leaning forward and nibbling along his jawline.


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah I'm so sorry it's been 5 months since I updated! I had a couple of problems (not concerning this fic) and tbh I completely forgot about it for a while. This chapter has been sitting on my computer gathering dust for ages and I just finished the last few bits, so enjoy! Oh and bear in mind that this will be wrapped up very soon :)

Molly grabbed hold of the sofa as Mycroft put her down. They'd sat on the bench for a while, but Molly didn't feel up to running again so Mycroft had swept her up and carried her home bridal style, staring her belly when he thought she wouldn't notice. She had babbled about work and Sherlock's cases and how much the baby had been kicking. He still had his nervous habit of rubbing the back of his neck and he very nearly dropped Molly a few times.

As Molly shifted herself on the sofa, the baby moved and kicked against Mycroft's arm. Molly stuck an arm out to catch him when his knees buckled and he went down, level with her stomach.   
“She's saying hello to her daddy,” Molly said, trying to calm him down a bit.  
“Can I?” Mycroft hovered his hand just about her navel and Molly really hoped her leggings were thick enough to hide her growing arousal as she distinctly remembered similar previous positions they had taken on the exact same sofa.  
“Of course,” she murmured, shifting closer so he could touch her stomach properly (and she could subtlely inhale his cologne).  
He rubbed very gentle circles on her belly and leant closer. “Hello there, baby girl. It's your daddy.”  
“Do you want a drink?” she jumped up from the sofa, nearly kicking him in the face.  
“I don't really drink tea,” she thought she saw him frown before the mask slipped back on.  
“I've still got some port from Christmas? Or eggnog? Or whisky?” she offered.  
“You've got alcohol?!” the panicked tone was unmistakable.  
“Yes, I don't drink it, obviously.”  
“I'd hope not.”  
“You didn't answer the question. Do you want some? You sure do look like you need it after that walk.”  
“Charming as ever.”  
“Nothing to do with you! I'm fat!” she laughed dryly, pouring a generous amount of whisky into a tumbler and getting herself a glass of milk.  
“No you're not, you're,” Mycroft trailed off when Molly leant over the counter to pass him the glass, her cleavage looking even better than normal from his angle.  
She blushed slightly and walked around the counter slowly.   
Mycroft expected her to huff in outrage or slap him or throw him out the flat, so he was very surprised when she sat down very close to him.

She shifted her hand on to his thigh, rubbing slow circles and grazing his inner thigh with her nails. He bit back a moan and cupped her chin so he was looking in her eyes rather than staring at her hand. “Molly, we can't.”  
“Why can't we?”  
“This isn't what I want.”  
“Are you sure?” her hand shot up and she was cupping him, stroking his erection and fondling his balls through his trousers. He bucked into her touch and groaned, his head falling back. “Sure does feel like you want this.”  
“This isn't good!” he hissed through gritted teeth.  
“So you want me to stop?”   
She squeezed.  
“God, no. But not emotionally good. Not good for us. Not good for the baby.”  
“What do you mean?” she whispered, removing her hand. He didn't know whether to whimper or cry.  
“I want our daughter to love me, even when you can't anymore. I can't take advantage of you, she'll hate me for it.”  
“Who said I didn't love you anymore?”  
“I think it's pretty damn obvious, Molly!” he snapped, startling her.  
“You're not making sense!” she threw her hands up above her head, jumping up from the sofa. Jumping as much as a woman who was 26 weeks pregnant could. “You're the one who refused to move in with me!”  
“You're the one who wouldn't come back to the house!”  
“So it's my fault now?”  
“That you didn't tell me about the baby? Yes!” he snapped.  
“I tried!”  
“Good point,” he conceded.  
“You said you didn't want her!” she grimaced at the wobble in her voice.  
“It was the shock!” protested Mycroft, his words harsh but his tone soft, not wanting to see her upset.  
“We've gone off track. So, you think you let me down and that I don't love you anymore?”  
“Clearly,”  
“I thought you were mad at me!” Molly ran a hand down her face, sighing.  
“I was. But I've never felt this way about anyone, except with you. I can't just switch it all back off again.”  
“So you still love me?” the anger dissipated and she suddenly seemed shy, unsure.   
“Of course I do.” whispered Mycroft. “What about you? Do you still love me?”  
“I never really stopped.”

And, with that, Mycroft grabbed her, bringing her as close as she could get with her belly in between them, capturing her mouth in a feverish kiss, running his hands up her back until he reached the clasp of her sports bra.  
She giggled into his mouth and reached behind her to do it herself. “You haven't got any better at this then.”  
“You were teasing me with it,” he chuckled back, his voice husky.  
“I'm six months pregnant with your baby, I'm entitled to be horny around you,”  
“You're more than entitled, my love. You're welcomed,” and with that, he took a nipple into his mouth, chucking slightly as Molly groaned and arched back. 

“I had no idea how much I needed that,” she murmured into his chest, sweaty and sated.  
“I did.”  
She sat up slightly and slapped his chest. “Oi! I wasn't that bad!”  
“I didn't mean you,” he laughed, stroking her hair as she smirked and laid back down again.


	46. Chapter 46

Three nights later, Molly was already half asleep when she felt a pair of warm arms wrap around her and tug her close.   
“Mmmm, Mycroft?”  
“I hope there's no other men climbing into your bed at night,” he chuckled quietly into her ear.  
“I haven't seen you in three whole days,” she turned around to face him, an accusing look on her face.  
“I'm sorry, I really am. Work has been rather insane and I didn't want to keep flitting in and out.”  
“Why are you here, Mycroft?” she winced at how harsh her words sounded, even though her tone was gentle. He didn't seem to mind.  
“I have a proposal to make.”   
Molly froze in his arms. No, he wouldn't propose at 11pm in her bed. Then again, he had been quite willing to do it completely out of the blue when they were in his house. Wrapped up in her own thoughts, she didn't notice that he had carried on talking.  
“- these flats. So what do you say?”  
“Sorry, what?”  
“I know it's a bit out of the blue. But I said, it would be best for me to be back in my house. And because the doctor said you need someone to keep an eye on you, I'm proposing that you move back in with me. After all, you have to admit the house is a lot nicer than these flats.”  
Molly's eyebrows shot up to her hairline.  
“You can stay in a separate bedroom and it's big enough that I don't have to see you that often,”  
“You don't want me around?”  
“No, I thought you might not want me around. I didn't want to be presumptive.”  
“Of course I want to be near you, you silly man!”  
He laughed, a deep throaty laugh. “That's settled then!”  
“Is that all you wanted to ask tonight?”   
“Yes, but, well, now I'm here,” he cuddled her closer and she felt just how much he had missed her.  
“That would be a real waste,” she said with a gleam in her eyes.


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: death
> 
> You might remember that Mycroft had an uncle who died and Molly found some nursery furniture in Mycroft's attic.

It had been two months since that eventful day in the park and Mycroft and Molly was cuddled up on his bed in Richmond.  
Mycroft hummed thoughtfully and broke the peaceful silence. “We've only got one month to go, we should really go shopping,”  
“Oh, there's some bits for the baby in your attic already,”  
Mycroft froze and his tone suddenly seemed a lot colder. “What?”  
“I went shopping and put it up there, months and months ago.”  
“Oh. You meant your own stuff.” He visibly relaxed.  
“Yeah, of course,”  
“What sort of stuff?”  
“Oh, just clothes,”  
“So we still need furniture to assemble the nursery?”  
“Well, I didn't want to get that.”  
“Why? I can assemble it, don't worry,”  
“It's not that. It just seems a bit of a waste to spend all that money when you've already got perfectly good stuff upstairs.”  
He sat bolt upright and stared at her. Apart from that one night in the chip shop (oh so long ago) she couldn't remember ever being on the end of one his harshest glares.  
“How do you know about that, Molly?” He asked quietly and slowly.  
“What, the stuff under - ”  
“Yes, the stuff under the fucking sheets! They're under sheets for a reason, I don't want to see them!”  
“I thought it was just so they wouldn't get dusty?” She was really confused now and thought she saw a misty sheen to Mycroft's eyes. “I assumed they belonged to Mrs A?”  
“No, she didn't raise her son here.”  
“Then who's?” But before she could continue to ponder, he reached over for his wallet and took out a very tattered photograph of a young woman. She was kissing a man gently in the photograph, one hand on his shoulder and one reaching out towards the camera. Molly leant in closer to the photograph, staring at the young man and recoiled in shock when she realised it was a younger Mycroft.  
“Who the hell is that?!”  
“That is Colette. We were engaged to be married and she was carrying my child. The items in the attic were to be for my child's nursery. But there was a car accident.” His words were detached, like he was reading from a book, but his voice cracked.  
“Mycroft, you told me you'd never felt the same way about anyone as you did with me! What am I then, the cheaper version of Colette?!”  
“Of course not! I loved her but I love you!”  
“You still love her, you don't love me, I'm just the replacement and this baby - ”  
“No you're not, I swear! I did love her, of course I did, we were engaged and we were pregnant, I was absolutely heartbroken when she died - ”  
“I can't listen to this! I can't even look at you right now!” she struggled up off the bed and stormed out, surprisingly quick for a woman in her eighth month of pregnancy.  
He went to follow her, but the sound of a slamming door echoed back to him and he collapsed in the chaise chair beside his bed, whispering dejectedly into his hands “but you mended my heart.”

A LONG TIME AGO

“I'm so sorry I couldn't make it,” he said, walking his fiancée to the door.  
“It's alright, really. Your uncle can drive me,”  
“Just bring lots of sonogram pictures back,”  
“Course I will, they can go on the fridge with the others. Oh, and will you get the stuff out the attic today?”  
“Ugh, at some point. My poor back.” he said with a teasing twinkle in his eyes.  
“Your daddy is so silly,” Colette chucked to her belly, stroking the bump. Her eye caught her watch and she grabbed her bag. “Right, really gotta go, bye Mike! Love you!”  
“Love you too!” he called out, but the apartment door was already shut.

“I don't know why I put it in the attic,” he complained to thin air. “I suppose she went shopping so soon we would get sick of it being underfoot for so long.”  
“Right, I need a cup of tea before anything else.”  
He opened the kitchen cupboard and wrinkled his nose at the scotch on the top shelf. He couldn't stand the stuff (his dad always told him he would like it one day), but Colette loved it and had missed drinking terribly whilst pregnant.  
They had met in a pub, the night they graduated and they had bought drink after drink and laughed all night long. They were engaged within the year and – much to their own shock as well as everyone else – were pregnant in the same month they got engaged. 

He was just dozing off on the sofa when a knock on the door woke him and he stumbled up, picking up the cold tea on the way.  
There were two policemen at the door and he straightened automatically. “How can I help you gentlemen?”  
“Are you Mycroft Holmes?” asked one.  
“Yes,”  
“Colette Jones lives here, yes?”  
“Yeah, she does, she's my fiancée, but she's not in at the moment.”  
The policemen exchanged a awkward look. “Could we possibly come in?”  
“Yes, of course, sorry,” he stood back to let them in. “Tea?”  
“That would be great, thank you Mr Holmes,”  
“So what's the problem?” he knew he wasn't in trouble – he was a very law abiding fellow – but his fingers drummed anxiously on the teapot, thoughts of his younger brother crowding his mind.  
“Your uncle and your fiancée were driving to the hospital earlier and there was a van. The driver was drunk and he overtook at the wrong moment and crashed into them.”  
“Oh my god! Are they in hospital? Can you take me there now?” he said, already reaching for his coat.  
“Mr Holmes, please sit down.” The policeman paused. “I'm very sorry, but neither Colette nor Arthur survived the crash. It was very quick.”  
Mycroft abruptedly dropped the teapot, trying to croak out the words, but his chest seemed to have frozen. “Baby?” was all he managed, very shakily.  
“Miss Jones was taken to the hospital, but her baby was already dead too.”  
“Get out.”  
“Mr Holmes, is there someone we can call - ”  
“I said, get out!” Mycroft shouted, turning around and leaning on the table, hoping desperately they would go. He saw the sympathetic looks they gave him. He heard the door close quietly. And then he screamed. He fell down, fingers clawing at the table, tears running relentlessly down his face. And he curled up into a ball and he cried, he cried for Colette, he cried for his baby, he cried for himself.  
Throughout the day, his mother came flying in through his front door, tears staining her own cheeks and held him like he was a small child again. Mycroft didn't – couldn't – stop.  
Sherlock came in and sat with him, a box of tissues beside them. Mycroft sobbed to him, murmuring incomprehensible words into Sherlock's shoulder as Sherlock held his shuddering form.  
Eventually, he cried until there were no more tears and he let Sherlock guide him into bed.  
He woke up in the middle of the night, gasping for air and then retching over the side of the bed as Colette's perfume filled his senses. He crawled out of the bedroom and his gaze caught the pictures of the sonograms on the fridge. With newfound strength, he charged over, ripping the photos into shreds, smashing the bottle of scotch, not even feeling the shards of glass cut his hands. He finally gave up, exhausted, stumbling over to Colette's scarf on the wall and falling asleep against the wall with it wrapped around him. Sherlock could do nothing but lean against the doorframe and watch as his brother turned into nothing more than a shell.


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set between "The Sign of Three" and "His Last Vow"

“Are you okay Mr Mycroft? I heard a commotion,” Mrs A called from outside the door, jolting Mycroft from his memories. He hastily swiped at his eyes, straightened his suit jacket and took a deep breath before opening the door with a forced smile.  
“Yes, everything is fine, thank you Mrs A. I don't suppose you've seen Molly?” he tried to take a casual tone.  
“No, I haven't. As long as everything is okay, I'll be off.”  
Mycroft bid her goodnight and waited until he heard the front door close before hurrying off to look for Molly.

He checked everywhere in the house, on both floors. She wasn't having a gentle workout, nor was she baking, nor having a soak. He even pulled the attic ladder down slightly in case she had gone up there. He only called up though, he didn't think he could bear to go and see the silhouette of that cot in the light of recent events.  
He sighed dejectedly and racked his brains as to where she could possibly be. She wouldn't go out to see Sherlock or whoever at this time of night, she was too heavily pregnant to walk far and Albert would have let him know had she summoned the car.   
But the thought of going out gave him idea. She liked to sit on the patio steps to breathe in the fresh air, he knew she had hated the muggy London air when she was in her flat.  
It was March so when he stepped outside, it was pitch dark apart from the dim flickering of the patio lights.  
“Molly!” he called a few times but there was no reply.  
He waited a few more minutes then decided she knew the place well enough that she could make her own way back and then they could discuss the situation properly.  
The door had shut and locked behind him, so he shed his jacket and was digging around in the pockets when a scream pierced the air. He immediately dropped the jacket and ran as fast as he could towards where the sound had resonated from. 

After Molly had stormed off, she paused at the bottom of the staircase. She didn't want to talk to anyone at the moment and she knew he would soon come looking for her. She didn't want to talk to Mrs A, either.  
“Where can I go?” she spoke to thin air, wandering over to the window. Her gaze caught the building in the distance and she smiled.  
As she walked across the damp grass, the baby kicked especially vigorously and she rested a hand on her belly, rubbing mindlessly.   
“Hey there, Domino,” she greeted the stallion. She couldn't ride any more (she doubted she could even mount him in all honesty) but she still liked to go to the paddock or the stable, feed him tidbits and give him a pat. It was the stable tonight, since the sun had already set and the cold was setting in. Domino whinnied quietly and shifted over, leaving her enough room to lean on him, so she gently opened the door and went in.  
“Ah Domino, I've really messed up with - ”  
She trailed off with a whimper and clutched at her stomach as a slight wave of pain ran down her spine. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she patted the horse and addressed her belly. “Hey, calm down. I'm sorry for shouting at your daddy, yeah? We'll sort it - ”  
She broke off as a sharper pain hit her in the abdomen and she leant one arm against the horse, sitting down slowly in the hay. Domino craned his head around to look at her. She rubbed her back and gave him a weak smile, talking to herself more than him. “It's alright, its probably just Braxton Hicks. There's still a month to go. I read about this.”  
After about a minute, the pain had faded and she was able to pull herself up again, wrapping her hands around Domino's long neck.   
She was murmuring into his neck for another five minutes, digging in her pocket for mints.   
Then it happened.   
She felt a rush of something sticky and suddenly her knickers were wet.  
“Domino, look away,” she joked, pulling her trousers out from her body to look. Her mucus plug had broken.   
She was about to hurry back to the house when another pain hit, so sharp that she struggled not to be sick. “Mycroft,” she whimpered, sitting down again, one hand still clutching the stable door and knuckles turning white.   
But he wouldn't hear her from all the way in the house, she thought.  
So she mustered up as much strength as she could and shrieked. 

“Molly?! Is that you?!”   
The light was on in the stable and Mycroft sprinted over. “What's going on?”  
“I think – oooh – I think the baby is coming,”  
“It can't be, you've still got a month!”  
“I don't think the baby cares!”  
He froze for a second then leapt into action, pulling her up and supporting her with one arm, digging in his trouser pocket for his phone with his spare hand.  
“Albert? Could you come to the house?” he smiled reassuringly at Molly. “There's a baby on the way.”


End file.
